Game of Thrones: A New Perspective
by ToriJenova
Summary: After the death of Jon Arryn, Hand of the King, the crown prince, Tomas Baratheon, join the rest of his family to Winterfell to name a new Hand and be betrothed to one of Ned Stark's daughters.
1. Chapter 1

The cool air of the north kissed him like a fair maiden as he rode alongside his father. Curly hair of an ebony black fell to his shoulders and piercing green eyes stared out where he sat on his saddle. They gazed upon the gates of Winterfell as they opened to allow the three-hundred strong to flood in. Walls nearly as old as the godswood they were built around frosted in the face of the winter that never abandoned the region even in the long summer. "Winter is coming" was the motto of House Stark, the great house that served as Wardens of the North. Led by Lord Eddard Stark, an old friend of his father King Robert Baratheon who led his knights and bannermen into the village. Every other house boasted or threatened, including the prince's own joint houses of Baratheon and Lannister. But the Starks only warned. The contrast pegged his interest as he beckoned his horse to stop once they made it past the gate.

His father had embraced the Warden of the North with all the strength of a grizzly. He was a round man with a bearded face and the years have not been kind. The young prince could see in the warden's eyes that he came to the same realization. The years have been kinder to Lord Stark, brown hair and gray eyes with white in his beard, as if the snow became one with him. His father boasted of his friend for many years in King's Landing, the Warden of the North with the Valyrian steel. Next to him was his wife and children. Four sons, two daughters and his ward Theon Greyjoy. The Stark children all had hair of fire and eyes as blue as the ocean, all but two. Just two. Lady Arya and the bastard Jon Snow were truly their father's children with brown hair and gray eyes.

Tomas's eyes momentarily met the eldest daughter gaze and her warm smile on their way to Arya. Arya's eyes were fixated on his uncle, Tyrion Lannister, in silent intrigue. Normally people looked at his uncle "The Imp" in shock or horror. He was a dwarf with a head bigger than his body, two different colored eyes and hair of gold and black. A monstrosity to all who lays eyes on him. Not Arya. It made Tomas smile, and the smile on Sansa's face vanished as quickly as it appeared. Jon caught sight of it too and Robb was already staring in his direction since he rode up on his horse. _Great! _The boy prince thought, scolding himself for his carelessness.

"You have peculiar tastes in girls, Brother," said Joffrey, Tomas's younger brother by two years. His eyes were as bright green as Tomas's and his hair just as curly, but as gold as all the coin beneath the Lannisters feet. He dressed in red, holding the lion on one side and the crown stags on the other as did his other siblings. Tomas wore gold and black and only bore the royal sigil of his father's house much to his mother's contempt.

"That one there," Joffrey nodded his head to Sansa, "that's a beauty."

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, dearest brother," replied Tomas.

Joffrey only looked annoyed. Tomas smiled inwardly, learning to hold his true emotions from his face. His eyes looked out to see their mother, Cersei Lannister, had departed the wheelhouse outside the city's gates with Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen. Jaime at her side proudly cloaked in the white of the Kingsguard. Tomas overheard Father mention a crypt and the queen was quick to protest only to be silence by a glare before Jaime took her arm.

"He shouldn't have done that," Tomas frowned, "Mother's pride is easy enough to wound on her best days."

"The king can do what he likes," argued Joffrey.

"I dare you to tell Mother that."

"I have no interest in the wailing of women."

"Of course."

Tomas dismounted his horse and readjusted his robes before making his way to the northerns. Joffrey dismounted as well but remained by his horse's side and Sandor Clegance with his burned face. Joffrey wasn't one for greetings and it wasn't expected of him anyway.

"Lady Stark," greeted Tomas with a smile.

"My prince," replied Catelyn with a lady's courtesy.

Several of them echoed the address and Sansa copied her mother's movement to a tee. Arya was late to the draw and Tomas smiled politely.

"My condolences to your house. Lord Arryn was a good man and served my father well."

"Thank you, my prince," replied Catelyn.

"Your sister was quick to leave with her son. Will you pass my sympathies to her as well if you see her?"

"Of course, my prince."

"Enough of the pleasantries," said Cersei. "Come," she beckoned.

It took all of Tomas's strength not to glare at his mother. _Pleasantries? _He thought. _Jon Arryn is dead and his wife is now a widow. There's nothing pleasant about it! _Tomas kept his silence and followed the rest of the Lannisters into the Guest House that was prepared for them. Jaime patted a hand on the boy's shoulder as they made their way inside, Jaime's way of indicating he did good. Tomas noticed his eyes were on his scalp, the lion mane of the Lannisters trying desperately to escape beneath the black the boy had colored his hair with. Deny it as he may, the boy was more Lannister than Baratheon.

As soon as they made it inside Cersei and Jaime escorted the other children to their rooms leaving Tomas behind with Tyrion. The Imp sat down by the window and made himself comfortable with a flask filled with wine that he had brought on the trip. Tyrion never went anywhere without plenty of wine. He was hardly the only family member that drank, though. Tomas had caught his mother drinking plenty and his father was less apologetic about it. The boy approached the table and pulled out a chair to sit across from his uncle.

"She's upset, isn't she?" asked Tomas.

"No more than she normally is," answered Tyrion.

"Father could have at least waited until he was alone with Lord Stark."

"Alas, your father was never a particularly bright man. Add him with my sister and it's a match for the ages."

Tyrion smiled and downed more wine. Tomas looked over to the flask and reached out to grab it before it was taken away.

"You'll have plenty of chance to drink at the feast, beloved nephew," said Tyrion.

"I'm fourteen. Almost a man. I think I can handle my wine."

"There are three things you never try to take from a man," began the Imp, "his wine, his gold, and his women." He held up three of his fingers to emphasis his points before taking another drink from his flask. For such a small man Tyrion certainly had a large appetite.

"Mother won't let me have more than a cup, half if I'm lucky," said Tomas.

"You won't have to worry," Tyrion reassured. "Today is to be a joyous occasion. King Robert will ask Eddard Stark to be his hand and wed you off to his daughter. He'll let you have as much wine as you like."

"You really think Lord Stark will accept?"

"Hard to say. Eddard Stark is a man of honor and Robert is his friend. I suppose if he was to refuse Robert would have him brought to King's Landing by the edge of his beard."

Tomas laughed at the thought. It was easy to picture how his father would react in that situation and the harsh unyielding wolf of Winterfell standing his ground. He looked out the window by the table to the eight thousand year old castle that stood outside restlessly as he hated being cooped up inside the Guest House. Tyrion smiled at his eagerness and only didn't relented so that the young prince would learn patience. That was one thing his mother lacked and he needed to learn if he was to be king one day. The floor of the Guest House creaked and Tomas turned his head to see Jaime Lannister looking at him and with one exchanged glance he already knew what he was going to say.

"Your mother wishes to see you," stated Jaime, confirming the young prince's suspicions.

Tomas looked over to Tyrion who slid the flask across the table to his nephew's side, "This one is on me." Tomas took the flask and held it in his hand as he walked past Jaime and headed to answer his mother's call.

The guest bedrooms upstairs were lined up to the left and the right of the hall, many of the beds being singles for the little princes and princess while the king and queen's were the largest, leaving plenty of room for them to share a bed. If they wanted to share it. Tomas wouldn't have put it past either to sleep in separate beds. By the time he entered his parents room Cersei was already drinking; her hair braided and glowing green eyes like daggers settling on the young prince as soon as he came in. Primarily the black hair that replaced the natural gold-blond that Tomas was born with.

Her eyes went from the hair to the flask in his hands and in an instant Cersei stood up and marched towards the boy. Tomas ignored his instincts to run. Kings did not run. He held his ground as his mother snatched the flask out of his hand and shook it to check its contents before pouring it into her goblet and tossing it out the nearby window. She drank and turned her back on the boy allowing the silence to sink into the room before finally breaking it, "Do you know where your father is right now?"

"In the crypts where the kings and lords of Winterfell are buried," answered Tomas.

"He would rather spend his time with the dead than us. Is that the kind of man you want to be?"

Tomas said nothing. He knew there was no right answer either way. If he said yes Cersei would more than likely strike him, if he said no he'd be labeled a liar. All he could do was bow his head down in silence and weather the storm.

"When you tried lifting up your father's axe and he intended to punish you, who stayed his hand?" asked Cersei.

"You did," Tomas answered.

"And who took care of you while your father ate, and drank, and fucked whores in his bed?"

"You did."

Tomas kept his head down and refused to make further eye-contact with his mother. He didn't have to. He could feel the burning sensation of the Lannisters eyes so intensely it was like his face was that of the Hound being scarred for life. Cersei's footsteps creaked along the floor and once again he wanted to run, run far away and never look back as the next thing he felt was her hands yanking at his scalp.

"You slight me," she said.

"Mother, no."

"You slight me." She yanked at his scalp again. "Everyday." Grabbing a fist full of the ebony black hair that sat atop his head threatening to purge it. "With your presence."

"I'm not!"

"You slight me."

"Please stop!"

Cersei grabbed his robes and ripped them until his chest was bare. The crown prince covered up with all the modesty of a young maiden while trying his damnedest not to cry. _Kings don't cry._ He told himself. _Don't you dare let her see you cry. _

"You need another cloak," said Cersei after a long silence. "I'll have Jaime bring you one."

Cersei took her leave and Tomas sat down on the bed, his arms still clutched to his chest as his sorrow turned to rage. _I hate her. _Tomas's robes were still brand new, having been stitched together by the handmaidens back home at his request. He was so proud when he tried it on. The gold glistening in the light more than his hair ever did. For the first time in his life he felt like a Baratheon, black hair and all. And the way his father looked at him? He couldn't have been more proud to see his son wearing his house colors. Then it was all taken away in one fair swoop by a scorned queen. _I HATE HER!_

He was still holding back tears when Jaime came up, robes of red and gold with the lion sigil on the right breast, folded in his hands. Jaime laid it down by the bed and looked the boy over with half pity, "Let me see." Tomas lowered his arms and Jaime looked over where his twin sister had ripped the cloak, a finger softly brushing against the silk as he looked at the boy, "It's hardly torn. A couple of stitches should do the trick." Tomas kept his silence.

"You could do well to make peace with your mother," Jaime continued. "You'll live longer and drink less. You're a lion and you will _always _be a lion no matter what color your mane is."

Tomas said nothing until Jaime was halfway out the door, "I won't wear it." It made the Kingslayer stop in his tracks and turned his head to the boy.

"You will or next time it will be me," the Kingslayer warned. "And you won't want that."

The young prince kept his head down and allowed Jaime to take his leave. Tomas stood up from the bed and closed the door not wanting to be disturbed. With his chest still bare he looked at the clothes Cersei had her brother bring up for him; his eyes narrowing over the lion sigil. Tomas drew a knife from underneath the pants leg of his robes and in a single strike proved to be as rash as his uncle Jaime, and as reckless as his mother, plunging the knife into the sigil and stabbing the lion repeatedly in defiance before pealing it off the cloak and throwing it away like garbage. He was no lion.

He was a stag.


	2. Chapter 2

The Great Hall of the Inner Castle was filled with the king's men. Walls of gray covered in the snow white, yellow, and red of the Stark, Baratheon, and Lannister banners respectively. The smell of roast beef and dry bread flared the prince's nostrils as people fell over drunk and laughed in spite of themselves. Tomas could see Eddard Stark bastard on the benches with the squires drinking as much wine as he saw fit. The prince was envious of both that and the brown hair so dark it looked as black as those of the Night's Watch he read so much about back home. Castle Black. Tomas hoped to visit it before they started the journey back to King's Landing. Lord Arryn's death, sad as it was, provided a rare and unique opportunity for the prince to explore, and he was going to take advantage of the chance while he could as long as he could.

It was this time Prince Tomas wore the red and gold cloak of his mother's house to his own dismay. Only in place of the lion he removed from his breast was the familiar crowned black stag of the royal family. He did not care if it angered his mother and uncle during the feast. They would be able to say and do nothing as long as they were in the presence of his father and the Starks. Tomas saw the sneer of his younger brother Joffrey up ahead, his green eyes looking his new attire up and down in approval as he approached, "A vast improvement, Brother! Now we only need do something about that mess in your hair."

Joffrey moved his hand to touch Tomas's scalp and the crown prince grabbed his brother's wrist and began to squeeze while his face darkened in a cold glare not unlike that of his grandfather Tywin Lannister. Joffrey whined and squirmed like the baby he was under the strength of his elder brother that kept his wrist firmly in his grasp. Tomas may not have been as strong as his father, but he was strong enough to beat Joffrey when he pleased. Jon Snow caught wind of the altercation and smiled amused. Joffrey was finally getting what he deserved after hours spent forcing the Stark men to hold their tongue in the presence of their prince.

Tomas let Joffrey go, much to the disappointment of Ned Stark's bastard as Joffrey held onto his hurt wrist. His pride wounded. "I'm telling mother!" he declared, but Tomas did not flinch. Like Cersei and Jaime, he wouldn't do anything until after the feast when they were alone. If Joffrey whined now Father would only berate him for being weak and praise Tomas for his strength. They were both after the approval of their father. They have been for as long as they could remember. "Tell her," Tomas shrugged. "She knows where to find me."

Not long after the exchange did Sansa and Arya greet the princes and offered their arms. Since Sansa and Tomas were the oldest they were to join hands while Arya escorted Joffrey to their table. Neither Joffrey nor Arya was happy about the arrangement and wouldn't so much as look at each other. Joffrey had called Arya horseface girl and he overheard the little wolf calling the prince a shitface to her bastard brother. A match made in the Sept, all right.

Before he could even make it up the steps of the raised platform where the highlords sat, he could feel the eyes of Cersei and Jaime boring into him. He didn't look back at them. He wouldn't. Tomas pulled out Sansa seat for her and did the same for Arya knowing Joffrey wouldn't. Sansa was thankful and kind, Arya glared at the prince insulted. "I can pull out my own seat," she protested. Tomas smiled at the little wolf and pushed her seat back into the table before sitting next to Sansa. Robert laughed, Catelyn frowned, and Ned kept the same stoic expression he was known for. Sansa smiled faintly.

It was Arya's turn to glare at the prince and he returned the favor, only Arya didn't stand down because he was a prince. Eyes as gray as the direwolf in her possession gazed into the glowing emeralds that danced in the light of the Great Hall unyielding. Even the hand of her mother, Catelyn, couldn't get the little wolf to back down. Tomas smiled and dug into the meat the Starks brought to their table showing to have a Baratheon stomach. King Robert gave his son a light pat on the back, light to King Robert, at least. To Tomas it was like getting struck with a battling ram. His father's amusement died down quickly, however, when he realized his eldest son was wearing the Lannister colors, stag or not.

"What happened to your other robes?" the king asked.

Tomas spared a cold glance to his mother which would be the first and only time he planned to look at his mother during the feast.

"They got dirty," he finally answered, eyes going upon his plate. "I had nothing else to wear."

"Funny," started Jaime, "I remember that cloak having a lion."

"The lion was stitched together wrong," Tomas replied, making sure to look his uncle in the eye. "I had to replace it."

"You really shouldn't give the crown prince such expensive robes," interjected Tyrion, "he's not his brother."

"Maybe if the crown prince wasn't such a beast he wouldn't ruin his garments!" countered Joffrey.

"Enough!" shouted King Robert. "Get back to your meal!"

"If it pleases, my prince, Septa Mordane leads the ladies in needlework before first light," explained Eddard, "they could fix up your robes as a part of their next lesson."

"I wouldn't want to be any trouble," replied Tomas.

"No trouble at all, my prince," said Eddard.

"I'll have my things sent so you'll have them first thing," said Tomas.

Eddard nodded. Tomas resumed eating his meal and ignored the stares. It wasn't a very convincing lie but no one said anything. He could only imagine how he would be reprimanded if he wasn't the prince. King Robert spared a cold glance to Cersei who just sat there the way she always did with that fake smile of hers. The Starks sat uneasy. The tension settling in at the table would be interrupted as they heard Jon shout and the table go silent. When the bastard tried to leave he tripped over his own two feet and a cup of wine went spilling to the floor. Those sitting there erupted in laughter along with his father and brother Joffrey. The Starks didn't laugh, nor Tyrion or himself. Jon left the feast with what little remained of his pride and a white direwolf followed him out. Tomas wished he could have followed suit. There were many places in Winterfell he wanted to be. The Great Hall was not among them.

"If it pleases my family," began Tyrion, "I need to be excused."

"Go on then!" barked Robert, digging his teeth into the roast beef and chewing loudly. Bits of food flying from his mouth into the crown prince's face to Joffrey's delight. Tomas endured the rest of the feast and sprinted off as soon as his nightly obligation was over. He only managed to get halfway across the Great Hall before he was corned by Jaime.

"You have a tell," the Kingslayer said matter-of-factually.

"Do I?" questioned the prince.

"You only look a man in the eye when you lie," the Kingslayer answered.

"You have a tell as well, Uncle."

"And what would that be?"

"You only attack a man when his back is turned."

Jaime's face hardened and Tomas brushed past him to the exit, but not before calling on the Hound to escort him out. He was a huge and heavily-muscled man, the right side of his face was badly burned and his thin, long black hair covered the scars and absence of an ear underneath. The Hound was ruthless to his enemies and obedient to the crown. Jaime was the greatest swordsman in all of Westeros. Tomas didn't know which one would win in a battle, but Jaime had a sense of honor and dignity. He wouldn't make a strike if there was no honor in it. The Hound would make sure he was dead before he could. That was the difference and why Tomas would put his money on the Hound in a fight.

"Scared of the dark?" the Hound mocked as they made their way back to the Guest House.

"I find the dark refreshing," replied Tomas. "It's gold I fear."

"What kind of a Lannister fears gold?"

"I'm a Baratheon," Tomas snapped back.

"Yes, little stag. You're a Baratheon."

They made it back to the Guest House and Tomas saw to it that the Hound stood outside his door, "No one is to disturb me. Not even mother."

The Hound only repeated the words "Yes, little stag" like a good dog as Tomas entered his room and began changing to his night gown. He could hear footsteps approaching the door, but they were light and didn't echo the heavy armor that the Kingsguard wore. On the other side of the door was the welcoming voice of the only Lannister Tomas trusted, Tyrion.

"The prince wishes not to be disturbed," said the Hound.

"Surely he'll make time for _little ol' me_," the Imp replied.

"Let him in, Clegane," said Tomas through the door.

The door opened and the Hound's head was aimed down at the tiny man as he stepped into the room the door closed behind him. Tomas continued to change as Tyrion noticed the torn gold and black robes of the prince laying on the bed and looked it over. Without a single word needing to be said Tyrion already knew how it had gotten that way.

"They say Lady Sansa needlework is exquisite," noted Tyrion. "I'm sure she'll be more than happy to fix it up for you."

"She's a nice lady," replied Tomas, cloaking himself in his nightgown. Feeling more and more like a girl with the clothes his mother insist he wear.

"But you have eyes for someone else," said Tyrion, smiling.

"Am I that obvious?" the prince asked.

"No, but the Starks and Lannisters are not common households," explained Tyrion. "We notice what the rest of the world does not."

"Arya has a fire and a boldness I've yet to see from a lady," said Tomas. "It's an attractive quality."

"And she wouldn't be one to submit to your mother," added Tyrion.

"You disapprove?"

"Oh no. I just find it amusing."

"What?" questioned the prince.

"They say Arya is like her late aunt Lyanna," answered Tyrion. "The woman your father was promised before her untimely departure from this world."

Tomas lit up, not at the death of course, but the comparison. If Arya was like Lyanna then surely Father would approve of the match and his taste in women. With any luck their children would look like the proud and noble family of House Stark and nothing like the lion of Lannister.

"The gods ever so love their irony," stated Tomas.

"That they do," agreed Tyrion. "By the way..." Tyrion bent over and picked up the fallen lion sigil that Tomas hid under his bed. "This is a terrible hiding spot."

Tomas looked uncomfortable. He wouldn't have cared if Cersei, Jaime, or even his father found the sigil, but Tyrion was the one Lannister he didn't wish to offend. Tyrion said nothing and only put the sigil in his pocket to carry out so none would see.

"How did you manage to get it off?" asked Tyrion.

Tomas responded by pulling up his right pants leg and revealing the knife that was strapped underneath.

"You are not without cunning, Nephew. And such strong company."

"Do you think he could beat Jaime?" asked Tomas.

Tyrion half smiled, "Perhaps. Stranger things have been known to happen. I'll talk to my brother, in the meantime you best get rest. King Robert said you're to join him on tomorrow's hunt."

Tomas frowned. "Must I?" He did not like to hunt. He couldn't bring himself to hurt the animals.

"Afraid so. Imagine the boar is Cersei and you'll have an easier time of it." Tyrion joked and Tomas laughed.

"Goodnight, Uncle."

"Goodnight, sweet prince."

Tyrion took his leave and Tomas laid in bed. He slept easy knowing that the Hound was at his doorstep dissuading any who would wish him harm. There was no saving him from his own mind, however, as his mother Cersei haunted his dreams making him toss and turn in his sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Tomas entered the practice yard with a wooden sword in his left-hand, an instructor's worst nightmare. Often more than not the crown prince was told to use his right-hand. He was a stubborn boy and insisted to keep his sword in his left-hand so Father saw to it he got someone to train him with the left. He fought Robb on this day, the eldest son of the Starks at fourteen, same age as Tomas. Robb may have taken after his mother in appearance but he was his father's son on the field striking the crown prince repeatedly and even managing to knock him to the ground along with his pride. Joffrey and the Lannister men's laughter only added insult to injury.

Nevertheless, when Tomas was knocked down he got back up refusing to stay down on the ground for long. He let his anger get the better of him and Ser Rodrik Cassel, a middle-aged man with a slightly heavy build, white hair, and large whiskers Tomas felt the impulse to run his fingers through. He was the master-at-arms, keeping a watchful eye for just such an occasion. Prince Joffrey came up as Tomas soothed his dry throat with water from the Baratheon men, that ever so familiar sneer on his face as he spoke, "Is that what you call fighting, Brother?"

Tomas only looked at him as he gulped down another ounce of water, all eyes on them as news of the princes dislike for each other had already reached the north before their arrival. No doubt some of the spectators wanted to see them fight, and even more wanted to see Joffrey knocked down a peg.

"Perhaps you'd like to go a round with Robb?" Tomas suggested. "Show us all how it's done."

Joffrey face looked almost disgusted at the idea. He glanced at Robb, Robb's face was calm as the sea but still winded from the previous bout.

"This is a game for children!" declared Joffrey, looking back at Tomas.

"You are children!" called out Theon from the other side of the yard with Bran and the rest of the northern residents who came to watch the duel.

"Robb may be," Joffrey responded. "I am a prince."

"You mispronounced little shit," said Tomas.

Joffrey glared at Tomas, Theon let out a mighty laugh from his throat and was promptly silenced for it. Robb smiled amused. The Hound moved in ready to break up the princes if their words turned into fists. Joffrey seldom laid a hand against anyone who could fight back, but Tomas wouldn't shy away from striking the boy if it pleased him.

"You can't speak to me like that!" said Joffrey angrily.

"I can and I will," replied Tomas plainly.

"I want live steel and I want your head!"

Tomas was tempted but knew Ser Rodrik would never allow them steel, especially now that Joffrey made his attentions abundantly clear.

"Clegane, the frost has gotten to my younger brother. See to it that he's returned to the Guest House." Tomas ordered.

The Hound took Joffrey's shoulder and proceeded to lead him away from the yard. Joffrey protested, but Sandor ignored him and took him back to the Guest House. Tomas offered an apologetic look to Ser Rodrik and retreated into the crowd of Baratheon men as Bran and his baby brother, Prince Tommen, was called to practice. His eyes explored the rest of the yard and noticed the window on the covered bridge between the armory and the Great Keep, sitting on the window's sill was the bastard Jon Snow whom Tomas remembered storming out during the feast. Jon was soon joined by his half sister Arya and Tomas smiled in her direction before slipping away while the others were busy watching Bran and Tommen.

Tomas headed to the bridge through the armory, his eyes looking over the sharpened edges of the swords and the clean chest plates on the walls on his way. Two wolves stood by Jon and Arya's place on the bridge, one as white as the snow that fell in Winterfell with eyes red as blood, the other gray with dark golden eyes that met his own as she stood up along with Ghost. The wolves movement alerted the attention of Jon and Arya, both now looking at the prince in bemusement with those wolf-gray eyes Tomas has come to love so much.

"What are you doing here?" Arya asked.

"I thought I'd take a look around before the hunt," replied Tomas.

Tomas took a step closer to Arya and the golden-eyed wolf stood between them and bared her teeth at the crown prince with a hushed growl. It didn't need to do so twice as Tomas kept his place on the other end of the bridge.

"Your pet?" asked Tomas.

"Yes," Arya confirmed proudly.

"Does she have a name?"

"Nymeria."

"After the legendary queen," Tomas noted. "She's certainly fierce." He turned to the other wolf. "And this one?"

"Ghost," answered Jon.

"I might have known. May I approach?" Tomas asked, motioning for the window.

Jon and Arya made room by the sill and Tomas looked out the window to see his brother and Bran, now heavily padded, striking each other in the yard. Not only that, but he could see the entire courtyard from this one spot.

"Not a bad view," said Tomas. The bridge made a good vantage point. A couple of archers and any invaders would be dead the moment they entered the courtyard.

"Why don't you wear your mother's sigil?" Arya asked. "You're the only one who doesn't."

"I am the crown prince," Tomas explained, "I do not have that prerogative."

Tomas didn't look at Jon or Arya, he kept his eyes glued to the courtyard. He knew looking them in the eye indicated he was lying and avoiding it would indicate he was lying, so he chose to allow himself to be distracted by the view.

"You're lying," said Arya. Jon remained quiet, knowing better than to speak out against royalty and gesturing with his eyes for Arya to back down for all the good it would do.

Tomas tapped his finger against the window sill, feeling the tough granite beneath his fingertip. His efforts to conceal his lie having failed yet again. He was impressed by the girl's observation, but he didn't want to disclose his reasons for neglecting the Lannister sigil just yet. "It's a matter I wish not discuss." He looked to Jon. "Will you be joining the hunt, Snow?"

Jon shook his head. "I have things to do here."

"Shame. I had hoped to see your skills with a sword." Tomas told him.

"Prince Joffrey isn't drilling today?" asked Arya.

"He wanted to." Tomas said. "He thought himself beneath practice swords so I sent him to his room."

Arya grinned. "Sorry to have missed it."

"The best thing about my dear brother is that he provides plenty of opportunities to reprimand," said Tomas.

"They're searching for you." Jon pointed out. Tomas looked out the window again to see the knights spreading out with the help of Stark men.

"How long until they think to look up?" asked Tomas.

"Likely never," replied Jon.

Tomas laughed. "All the same, I need return to my lord father before the hunt. I trust he'll have a marital matter to share with me before we ride." He looked to Jon and Arya. "Snow. My lady." He bid farewell and couldn't help but notice that Arya almost looked offended at the address _my lady_. He'd have to make a mental note of that.

The young prince made his way to the Great Keep, enjoying the warmth from the hot springs the keep was built over as he bide his time while the knights searched for him. This was the first time he got to enjoy Winterfell on his own and he wasn't ready to give up the privilege just yet. There was still time before the hunt.

When he stepped out of the Great Keep he saw a small Sept standing across from it with seven walls to represent the seven faces of the Faith. Tomas looked puzzled since he knew the Faith didn't have as strong a hold of the northern people as they did in the south. Nevertheless he was pleased to see it and decided to have a look inside. The faces of the Seven looked down upon him from where they decorated the walls as he sat down by the altar, the Seven Pointed Star of the Faith situated in the window above. Tomas lit the seven candles and prayed for a safe hunt until his attention was pulled from his prayer at the heavy breathing of his father, Robert Baratheon.

"There you are!" he said, his face reddened from underneath his beard. "You have the whole castle looking for you!"

"I did not mean to worry you, lord father, I needed to get away."

"You and I both." King Robert walked over to his son's side, his eyes looking at the paintings of the Seven in silent contempt. "I bring good news. Ned has agreed to be my new Hand. Tomorrow we ride back to the south and you're to marry his daughter."

"Which daughter?" asked Tomas, looking up at his father.

"Sansa. Who else?"

"If it pleases my lord father, I request Arya's hand in marriage."

"Arya?" repeated Robert, surprised. "She's too young to be betrothed."

"I can be patient."

"Since when?"

Tomas stood up and looked his lord father in the eye. "Since now. Arya is beautiful, Father, and bold. She does not back down just because I'm a prince and I actually have to earn her favor. I grow tire of false praise. I need a wolf."

Robert stroked his beard and looked at the prince for a moment before bursting into his usual cheerful laugh and slapping Tomas's shoulder forcing the boy to conceal his pain. "You make your father proud, boy. You'll make a good king yet. Come. Those wild boars aren't going to kill themselves."

Tomas smiled proudly. There was no greater feeling in the world than his father's approval. He blew out the candles and left the Sept behind as they prepared for the hunt.


	4. Chapter 4

Tomas mounted his horse, spear in hand. Since he was allowed to join the hunt Robb was also allowed to ride with them. They were joined by Theon Greyjoy, Ser Rodrik and two other men from the house of Stark that the crown prince did not recognize. On the king's side were Tomas's younger brothers, Sandor Clegane, and Tyrion Lannister. Tomas's eyes ventured over to where his father was, talking with Eddard on horseback. The Warden of the North turned his head over in the prince's direction like a father would when you took interest in his daughter before looking back to Robert. Tomas made sure not to look away, afraid that such a gesture would show weakness.

"Something troubling you?" asked Tyrion, riding up to the prince's side.

Tomas shook his head. "Where's Jaime?" he asked.

"With your mother," answered Tyrion.

Tomas did not like the sound of that. Both felt scorned at the feast and he hasn't seen either since. Normally that would be a gods send, but the thought of them conspiring against him left a chill down his spine that not even the north could match.

"Relax," Tyrion spoke up, sensing the prince's unease. "You're the farthest thing from their mind right now."

Tomas raised his eyebrow at that, but then he remembered that his mother had wanted Father to name Jaime Hand of the King. Robert boomed that he would sooner name Petyr Baelish. Tomas had hoped that his father would have named one of his uncles. Stannis was calculating and already done so much without thanks from his father, Renly had the charisma, and Tyrion was clever enough to handle the politics. But none of them was ever considered for a moment. Only Eddard Stark.

"You should have been named Hand, Uncle," Tomas said.

"Me?" Tyrion looked amused by the thought. "The look on our families faces would be priceless, Nephew."

"I'm serious," Tomas replied. "You would have made a great Hand."

"You flatter me. Alas, the honor has gone to Lord Stark."

"Who will warden the north in his place?"

"I imagine the honor would fall to his eldest son, officially, but Lady Stark will see to things in his stead."

"Who are those two men over there?" asked Tomas, nodding his head over to the Stark men he did not recognize.

"First Ranger of the Night's Watch, Benjen Stark, and Guard Captain, Jory Cassel." Tyrion answered.

"Night's Watch?" Tomas looked on puzzled. "Is he supposed to be out here?"

"On a matter of important business," replied Tyrion. "I plan to escort him and Jon Snow to the Wall so that I may piss off the edge of it."

"Uncle!" Tomas looked at him disapprovingly, but could only laugh in the end at the thought of it. His mind then went back to what he said about Jon. "Snow plans to take the black?"

Tyrion nodded. "The Night's Watch is a place that does not care what you've done or what you are. There is no other place where a bastard can rise higher. He'll never be able to become Lord of Winterfell, but he can be High Commander of the Night's Watch some day."

"I thought we only sent criminals to the Night's Watch when we didn't feel like wasting our cells or swords?"

Tyrion chuckled. "Not always, Nephew. There was a time where serving on the Night's Watch was an honor, and the Starks are one of the few houses that still see it as such."

"Will you take me with you?" asked Tomas, excited.

"I hope you're not thinking about taking the black," Tyrion teased, "leave us with Prince Joffrey."

"Gods no! I only wish to see Castle Black for myself. I read all about it but this may be my only chance to see it."

"If your father will permit you then we shall ride together."

"Thank you, Uncle."

The hunting party made their way past the gate leading out to the Wolfswood, now surrounded by snow and trees. Robb and Theon talked amongst themselves, Theon let out a chorus of laughter and Robb nudged him with his elbow. Joffrey looked bored and Tommen was practicing with his spear while staying close to Father who rode alongside the new Hand.

"Tomas!" Robert called. The crown prince was quick to answer his father's summon. "When the time is right I want you to do the honors."

"M-me?"

"Yes you! It's high time you killed something! Ned, give my boy a knife."

"I already have a knife, Lord Father."

"Good. You're already ahead of your brothers."

"Tommen is only seven, Father."

Robert said nothing and instead spotted a boar up ahead and led the others in the charge. Tyrion opt to stay behind and act as a spectator as Tomas followed his father. The hunting party circled around the boar to trap it. Robb was the first one to stab it with his spear closely followed by Theon who laughed at the way it squirmed. Tomas could only frown at the creature's pain while his father took pleasure from it. The other members of House Stark, Sandor, and King Robert himself all plunged their spears into the boar until it was too weak to fend off anymore attackers.

The young prince has been dreading this moment since his father said the word. Robert roared for Tomas to get off his horse and he did so. The rest of the hunting party observing as they kept the beast's escape routes blocked. Tomas removed the knife from his leg and slowly approached the animal.

"Nice and easy, my prince," coached Eddard. "There's no need to prolong its suffering."

"Hurry on then!" shouted Robert.

Tomas looked around unsure of himself. Praying that a miracle would occur and the boar would find the strength to break free and escape. But the gods had no love for wild boars it would seem. Tomas took a deep breath and now stood in front of the wounded creature, ready to cut it. He saw the boar's long nose and stared into sad eyes. Tomas didn't see a wild beast; only a defenseless animal unable to fend for itself. Clenching the knife in his hand he turned to his father. "I can't do it."

"What!?" the king shouted. "If you're my blood you'll kill the bloody thing!"

"I can't," cried Tomas. "Please don't make me."

Robert let out a fierce cry of anger and Joffrey dismounted from his horse. "Allow me, Father." Joffrey took the knife from Tomas's hand and without so much as flinching drove it into the wounded boar and ended its struggle permanently. Tomas saw the animal's blood now stained on his blade as Joffrey raised it up high over his head. King Robert was still too disgusted by his son's weakness to care.

"If you'd rather play spectator go sit next to the half-man!" yelled Robert.

Tomas only lowered his head in shame as his father went off ahead of the hunting party. Joffrey returned the bloodied knife to his brother and gave him a smug expression before catching up with Father. The rest of the hunting party was close to follow except for Ned Stark who stayed behind and dismounted from his horse.

"Are you all right, my prince?" asked Eddard.

"I'm fine," Tomas lied, cleaning up the knife and putting it away.

"I told my sons that if you're to take a man's life you owe it to him to look him in the eye," Eddard began, "and if you can't bear to do so maybe he doesn't deserve to die. I suppose the same can be said of even wild boar. Your compassion will do you well as king."

"Father doesn't seem to think so."

"Not every son is like his father."

Tomas resented that remark and Eddard rested a hand on his shoulder. It was cold and strong, as to be expected from a man of the north, but it also possessed a gentleness that his own father lacked.

"Nor is there always dishonor in it," Eddard finished with a reassuring smile. "Come, I will act as an extra sentry for you and Lord Tyrion."

"Thank you, my lord."

"Please, call me Ned."

"Thank you, Ned," Tomas corrected.

The two smiled at one another and got back up on their horses before rejoining Tyrion whose own horse walked up to them as they approached. "That was some display," said the Imp.

"The prince handled himself well," Eddard complimented.

"The prince is lucky the boar had no strength remaining or he'd be a bloodstain in the snow," replied Tyrion.

"The prince is also sitting right here," he said irritably.

"Apologies, my prince, I did not mean any disrespect," said Eddard.

"Nor I," added Tyrion.

"I think I would like to go back to Winterfell now," said Tomas.

"Then we shall," replied Eddard. "If Robert protests it I will speak with him myself."

"I always preferred stew, anyway," said Tyrion.

Tomas kicked his horse forward and moved with Ned and Tyrion at a steady pace back to Winterfell. Already he could hear his father screaming at the top of his lungs about him leaving the hunt so soon, but it comfort him to know that Eddard was on his side.

The hunter's gate opened from the other side and the trio didn't take more than two steps before Arya came running at the three of them in a huff. Worry filled her gray eyes and she needed a moment to catch her breath. Immediately Ned knew that something was amiss as people gathered at the Great Keep.

"What's wrong?" Ned asked.

"It's Bran," Arya replied. "He fell from the Bell Tower."

Tomas and Tyrion exchanged glances of surprise and watched Eddard dismount from his horse and follow Arya to the Keep. Tomas was the second to get off his horse followed by his uncle. Inside the Keep was nothing but disarray as Ned pushed past the crowd until he was halted by the shining gold of Jaime Lannister who couldn't be budged even in the Lord of Winterfell's haste to his son.

"The boy's upstairs," said Jaime.

Eddard said not a word to Jaime and moved around him to the stairs. Tomas was close behind until Jaime grabbed him and held him back. "Best not," Jaime told him. "This isn't a matter for us."

"But I–!"

"Let the wolves grieve for their own," interrupted Jaime. "I fear the boy doesn't have much time left."

"And how did the boy happen to fall?" asked Tyrion.

Jaime shrugged. "The boy was climbing and he must have slipped and fell. It was bound to happen eventually from what I hear the boy was a climber."

"H-he can't die!" exclaimed Tomas.

"If the gods are good," said Jaime. "But when have they been good?"

"Let me through!" the prince demanded. "He's to be my brother, let me through!"

"For once I agree with my brother," said Tyrion, "leave the Starks alone with their son for now. When the time is right we will offer our sympathies and service."

Tomas released an irritable growl not unlike his father that was drowned out by those moving back and forth in the Keep. He glared at Jaime darkly and squeezed his way past the people there until he came to the exit and headed back to the Guest House with nothing but the howls of a direwolf to see him by.


	5. Chapter 5

It was as if the old gods did not want Lord Stark to leave his home of Winterfell. Just mere hours after accepting his new role as Hand of the King Bran took a terrible fall that rendered him bed ridden. Tomas could not help but wonder if his mother the queen and Jaime of the Kingsguard had something to do with this. A plot that would force Ned to stay behind and not take up his new position so his father would have no choice but to name Jaime. They were the only ones unaccounted for during the fall. According to the smallfolk Bran have been climbing all his life like a natural born squirrel, it made no sense for him to suddenly fall today of all days.

Lady Catelyn hasn't left her son's side since they found him. Bran's direwolf also remained by his side howling outside the boy's sickroom much to the annoyance of Tomas's younger brother Joffrey. "At least the boy dies quietly," Joffrey said, and Tomas promptly shoved him for it making it look like an accident when in the presence of their mother. Tomas was starting to wonder how many times the boy needed to be pushed, hurt, and humiliated to learn to keep his damn mouth shut.

Robert was with Ned in his mourning and Tyrion checked on the boy every now and again to learn more of his condition. His younger siblings, Myrcella and Tommen, also voiced concern, but mother wouldn't let them out of her sight. Cersei couldn't care less, Tomas could tell that much by looking at her. Jaime only offered lazy smiles and jokes as he always has. It was enough to make him sick to his stomach. At the very least the commotion made the two forget about his defiant for the time being and helping the Starks fetch honey and water for Bran provided added protection when the Hound was not there.

After delivering Bran's food Tomas noticed Tyrion speaking with a small gray man who barely had any hair left atop his head. Gray was an underlying theme in the north. He watched the small man take his leave and next thing he knew Tyrion was in front of him with a smile. "The boy may yet live," the Imp said gladly.

Tomas was relieved. "What news have you heard?" he asked.

"The boy's back is broken and he'll never walk again," said Tyrion, "but he'll live."

The small sense of relief Tomas felt at the news of Bran's survival was soon swept away as a frown took his features. "That hardly sounds like living at all," the prince noted.

"It's still living," Tyrion replied. "Where's your father?"

"My father has been with Ned ever since he heard the news."

"Ned now is it? You're starting to acquire your father's ability of making friends fast."

"Only because he pitied me."

"You'd be amazed how far in life you can go with pity," replied Tyrion with a crooked smile. "We depart for the Wall soon. If you still plan to go you may want to ask your father now."

"Now doesn't seem like the best time," Tomas replied.

"There's nothing more we can do for Bran. I'll see you at the north gate or back in King's Landing, the choice I leave to you."

Tyrion walked away with stubby legs and Tomas looked for his father until he saw the king descend the stairs from the floor above in a mournful manner. If he did not resent the gods already he would have now for the tests they saw fit to grace the Stark House. Tomas let down a gulp and went over to his father hoping that his request would not be seen as an insult. "Lord father, may I have a word?"

"Make it fast," replied Robert. "There are horses to saddle."

"I wish to ride out to Castle Black with Uncle Tyrion. I want to see the Wall before returning home."

"The Wall is no place for a boy," said Robert.

"But it's okay if the boy is a bastard?" countered Tomas.

"If Ned Stark wants to send his bastard to the Wall that is his right as a father, but you're my son! You'll return with us to King's Landing and that will be the end of it!"

Tomas didn't say another word, but with one glance to his face you could tell he wanted to. He knew better than to challenge his father's authority. With a nod, Tomas spoke no more of Castle Black and proceeded up the steps.

"Where are you going?" his father asked.

"To pay my respects," replied Tomas.

Tomas walked up the old steps of the Keep and continued down the hall until he made it to Bran's sickroom just in time to run into Jon Snow coming out of the room and to hear the sobs of Lady Catelyn from within. Jon looked tired, as if he had already traveled the long road to Castle Black before even getting on his horse and the prince wondered what happened, but held his tongue out of respect for the family's privacy.

"Snow," Tomas greeted.

"My prince," Jon replied flat.

"Is now a bad time?"

Jon looked in the room and back to the prince. "I would wait a moment. You're likely to have better luck than I."

"I am sorry about your brother."

"_Half_ brother," Jon corrected.

"But still a brother," replied Tomas.

Jon smiled lightly and went on his way. Tomas waited for the sobbing to die down before softly stepping into the room. Bran was laying peacefully on the bed with Catelyn sitting next to him. The buckets of honey and water next to her and a hard bed to sleep in. The boy was lucky to have a mother who cared for him so deeply. Tomas wondered if Cersei would show the same love and care if he was to be wounded in such a way. Or would they deliver the finishing blow themselves while he slept? Catelyn finally saw him, wiping the tears from her eyes and beginning to rise from her seat until Tomas held out a hand to motion her to stop.

"Please, don't get up on my account," Tomas told her. He pulled up a chair and sat opposite the bed of Cat.

"I would have gotten dressed, my prince" said Catelyn.

"What you have on now is fine," replied Tomas. There was a moment of silence and Tomas was uncertain of what to say. What was there to say? Sorry? He never understood why those apologized for things beyond their control yet it was so embedded into him he'd say it anyway like with Jon. Tomas hoped that his mother and uncle was not behind this. It would take far more than an apology to remedy that wound. "I wish there was more I could do."

"You have done more than enough," replied Catelyn. "We are grateful."

"I hear Bran is going to be okay."

"I'll believe it when I can look into his eyes and hear his voice."

Tomas gave her a sympathetic look, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. Death was a prospect he still didn't know how to deal with. Before Jon Arryn, Tomas did not know anyone close to him that perished. It happened so quickly. He still didn't know how he was supposed to feel. The only thing the prince knew was that kings didn't cry, but what kind of king didn't cry for their loved ones? Catelyn was too distracted at the sight of Bran to notice his unease and it gave Tomas time to reflect on his own loss. A loss they shared.

"Lord Arryn was like a grandfather to me," Tomas spoke up, Catelyn's eyes remaining on her son. "My lord father saw him as a second father, so I figured it was appropriate. I never got to know Lord Steffon and Lord Tywin..." Tomas chose his words carefully. "Lord Tywin was Lord Tywin. Lord Arryn was kind, and wise, and the only reason we're not at war with Dorne right now. Among other things. I'm not saying it's in any way comparable to a mother and her child, but I do know what it's like for someone you love to be bedridden and not knowing if they're going to make it. And I will pray to the gods, the old and the new, if I must, to ensure that Bran does not meet the same fate."

The words were soft and slow to leave his lips as he chewed over what it was he would say. Catelyn still didn't look in his direction, instead her deep blue eyes remained on her son. A lesser prince would have been offended, not Tomas. Bran was close to death and his mother had all the right in the world to be focused on him. "I know my father asks a great deal from your family: Lord Ned and your daughters. I know it can't be easy. You're a strong woman and your children are lucky to have you as their mother. I swear to you to on my life that I will not allow a single hair on your daughters' heads to be harmed."

Catelyn's eyes finally came up from Bran to look at the prince. Her face was too weary to smile and her eyes were still red from the earlier tears. Tomas's own eyes were sincere as could be despite looking so much like the eyes of a Lannister and he refused to look away or even blink in fear that it might somehow diminish their sincerity until at last the lady of House Stark and Tully spoke, "Thank you."

Tomas was glad to see his words had reached her and allowed a deep breath to escape his throat; standing up from the chair and offering Lady Stark one last smile on his way out of the room. Yet again he found himself envying the Starks. It began with the color of their hair, the wonders of their gray eyes, and now it was because of the love their parents held for them. King Robert was disappointed in him more than he was proud and quick to anger. His mother the queen would send up her own brother to beat him when he was defiant. Tyrion, Renly, Barristan, Jon Arryn and his two younger siblings were the only ones to show him any kind of affection and for that he was grateful. If only more families were as kind as the Starks, maybe then the world wouldn't be so full of bloodshed.

The young prince left the Great Keep and saw that his father banners were already up and held over the heads of their knights as his family were rounded up by the south gate. Eddard, Sansa, Arya, and Jory Cassel was with them. Cersei escorted his younger siblings inside the wheelhouse while Jaime mounted his horse along with Joffrey, Sandor and the rest of the Lannister men. Tomas offered an apologetic smile to Tyrion who past them by to join with Benjen and Jon Snow, and with just one look Tomas could tell Tyrion already knew it was by his father's command that he could not come, and bid his nephew farewell. Tomas was on the way to his horse when he heard the call from his mother. He did not want to answer it but already he saw Jaime's eyes upon him and approached his mother without another word.

"Come with me to the wheelhouse," said Cersei.

"But I want to ride," protested Tomas.

"_Come with me to the wheelhouse_," Cersei repeated, her words as sharp as a blade.

Tomas looked at his mother coldly for what felt like an eternity before relenting and following her to the wheelhouse seeing his younger sister and baby brother sitting across from each other once inside. Tomas sat next to Myrcella who smiled at him and he smiled in return while Cersei took a seat next to Tommen. The royal wheelhouse, painted in red and gold, didn't even have a single window to it so he could see the countryside as they traveled. It was the perfect moving prison for Tomas when he wanted to enjoy the cool air in his face and ride with Arya. The Stark men have said Arya was a good rider, he hoped to test her skills himself on the Kingsroad.

"Did you get to see Bran?" asked Myrcella.

"Yes," answered Tomas. "The boy sleeps soundlessly. They say he will live."

"Your uncle was kind enough to let us know," his mother informed him, speaking of Tyrion as she held Tommen close in her arms. "He was also kind enough to tell us of your plans to sneak off to the Wall." She added.

"I wasn't going to sneak," argued Tomas. "I just wanted to see the Wall for myself like he did. Father forbade it so I'm here instead."

"Mother says there are bad people at the Wall," said Tommen.

"Not all of them," said Tomas.

"Ah yes, that bastard plans to join the Night's Watch as well," said Cersei. "No doubt a clever way for Lady Stark to get rid of him."

"Get rid of him?" Myrcella questioned with a tilt of the head.

"The Starks consider serving on the Wall to be a great honor," said Tomas.

"I'm sure," replied Cersei, letting the corner of her lips curve in the sly way she does when concealing her true feelings.

The wheelhouse began to shake, crack and pop as they moved down the Kingsroad. Tomas looked at the surrounding walls with a bored expression on his young features, his eyes finding his mother's fingers twirling through the white-blond hair of Tommen in a loving manner; the same loving manner she once bestowed upon him when he was Tommen's age. Back when his gold blond hair glowed in the sun and he smiled more to his mother. Those were the days where Tomas wouldn't have doubted his mother's affection. He wouldn't have doubted if she would be there for him. Now? All she did was look at him with silent contempt and fake smiles. Tomas hated her for the ways she treated him in private, and yet, he still held love for her. They shared blood, after all. Blood thicker than gold.

"I almost forgot," Myrcella spoke, grabbing the gold robes that sat next to her and unfolding it in front of Tomas. "Sansa fixed this for you."

Tomas looked at the robes that were torn by Cersei and couldn't even spot the point where they had been separated by her hands. Sansa had stitched it together so well it was as good as new and after taking the robes in his own hands a wave of guilt washed over the young prince. It was clear in Sansa's eyes from the beginning that she wanted to marry him and in one fair swoop Tomas took her dreams away; giving the honor to the little wolf in her stead. He did not regret his decision to name Arya his wife, but he never wanted to hurt anyone else in the process.

"It's beautiful," said Tomas.

"The work done on your other robes was less than exquisite," said Cersei. "It looked as those they handed the job to a blacksmith."

"Pity," Tomas said insincere, and his mother could spot it with a single glance.

"Arya did the stitching," Myrcella explained. "She did not seem very happy."

"I get the feeling Arya doesn't enjoy needlework, or a lot of traditional lady things," said Tomas.

"She's scary and loud," said Tommen.

"She's not that scary," said Myrcella.

"I know much scarier women," said Tomas, staring directly at his mother.

Myrcella and Tommen were confused by what he meant and he saw it fit not to tell them. They had their entire lives to find out just what kind of woman their mother was, there was no need to pull the wool out from over their eyes just yet. Cersei went back to stroking Tommen's hair until he fell asleep and Tomas conversed with his sister. If he was doomed to spend the rest of the trip in the wheelhouse he best find ways to pass the time. It was a long road back to King's Landing.


	6. Chapter 6

A beautiful woman no older than the crown prince stood at the front of an army. Eight thousand men with spears and shields obeying her every command as a baby dragon tugged relentlessly at the chains of his would-be master. Long flowing, silver-blond hair ran past her shoulders, and eyes of violet narrowed over the man that insulted her. Her lips parted and an ancient language forgotten by many rolled off her tongue. Many words were said to the master that held her dragon, but only one word stood out among them all. Just one word.

"_Dracarys."_

The dragon opened his mouth and fire poured out burning the man alive. The eight-thousand strong turned on their former masters, impaling them with their spears as fire took the city and the woman stood unhinged. The fire felt so real Tomas could feel the heat of the flames burning; his skin boiling as he cried out in agony and when he awoken in his bed he could see a concerned Myrcella sitting next to him. Tomas's breath started to come back to him when he realized he was still in the wheelhouse and there was no fire to be had as he wiped the sweat off his brow.

"Were you dreaming?" asked Myrcella.

"More like a nightmare," replied Tomas.

"What does dracarys mean?"

"What?"

"Dracarys. You said it in your sleep."

Tomas stared at the wall by his bed trying to remember his dream. All he could remember was the woman, the soldiers, and of course, the dragon fire. Nothing else. Those eyes. The prince recognized them as the eyes of a Targaryen, the house that was all but wiped out during his father's rebellion. His father had claimed to have Targaryen blood, making him the most fit for the Iron Throne when he and Ned rebelled against the Mad King before his uncle the Kingslayer slit his throat in the throne room. Tomas knew two of their children had survived as his uncle, Stannis, was reprimanded by the king for letting them go. His family did not have much love for dragonborn.

"Tomas?" spoke Myrcella, pulling Tomas from his trance.

"I'm sorry," replied Tomas. "I do not know what it means."

Tomas heard voices coming from the other room that were all too familiar to the boy. He jumped up from his bed in joy and ran into the other room to see his uncle, Renly Baratheon, and his friend, Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Renly was a young man, clean-shaven, with black hair down to his shoulders and blue eyes. Barristan was older, much older, but still every bit the capable swordsman as he was in his youth. The Lord Commander's hair was also long and as white as the winter's snow. Tomas embraced his uncle who messed up his hair and smiled at him.

"It's great to see you, dear nephew," Renly said. "How was Winterfell?"

"Cold," Tomas quipped.

Renly laughed. "So I hear."

Tomas hugged Barristan next, greeted the old man with a smile as he received a pat on the head from the Lord Commander. "You grow bigger everyday," Barristan told him. "Soon you'll dwarf even I."

"Run along back to your room," commanded Cersei. "I have a matter to discuss with the councilors."

"You can let him get some fresh air and stretch his legs at least," said Renly. "My voice has been known to travel quite the distance; we wouldn't want the prince to overhear something he isn't supposed to."

Cersei stared at Renly, and Renly only responded with his dashing smile that made women flush. Tomas smiled amused at the exchange before his eyes met with his mother's. "Stay by the inn." she told him.

"Yes, Mother," Tomas replied, taking his leave of the wheelhouse.

The morning breeze was a welcoming relief to the young prince as he finally escaped his prison on wheels. Up ahead was the old inn at the crossroad three stories tall where the king's party have stopped to eat and drink. He looked up to the turrets and chimneys made of white stone and the few windows on the side on his way inside. Once inside he saw Sandor sinking his teeth into some chickens while Sansa fed her direwolf, Lady, the smallest of the direwolves with gray fur and yellow eyes, under the table much to the woe of Septa Mordane. He smiled at the willfulness Sansa showed for her pet before taking a seat next to Sandor.

"They let you off on good behavior?" the Hound asked harshly, but it was his way of joking

"I suppose they did," Tomas replied. "Have you seen Arya?" he asked.

"No," Sandor replied simply, biting down a third time on his chicken breast.

Tomas frowned, but decided to leave the Hound be for now as he stood up and walked over to Sansa's table with a smile. Both she, Septa Mordane and even Lady were quick to greet him. Tomas was so used to the wolves growling at his presence that Lady's silence took him off guard. She was a good little wolf, like her mistress. It would seem many of the wolves have taken after their masters. Tomas would hate to see what kind of direwolf his brother Joffrey would have raised.

"I owe you my thanks." Tomas told Sansa, motioning to the gold and black robes he wore as he did upon his arrival to Winterfell. "You can't even tell it was torn."

"It was my pleasure, my prince," Sansa replied.

"I do apologize for the poor job on the other one," said Mordane. "Arya was never good at needlework."

"Where is Arya?" asked Tomas.

"We don't know, my prince," answered Sansa.

"Let's go find her, then," said Tomas, beckoning Sansa to take his arm. She was more than willing to oblige. "Clegane, I require your services."

"I'm not finished," Sandor said.

"You can eat and ride," replied Tomas.

Sandor spat out a bone and stood up to his feet. Sansa lowered her head as soon as their gazes met and Tomas brought a finger to her chin to raise her head. "Don't do that," Tomas advised. "Do anything but that."

Sansa looked to Tomas confused at first, but did not argue with the prince as she kept her head up. The three went back outside and Tomas helped Sansa up to the back of his horse while Sandor mounted his. Jaime was there and Sandor snapped a glare at him while the prince joined Sansa atop his horse, feeling her small arms around his chest. Jaime saw them off with a nod and the small party of three headed north with Lady close behind the horses. Sansa's grip tightened on Tomas when the horse's speed increased, sensing her fear. Her head rested on his back and he shifted uncomfortably, not thinking it appropriate as he was to be betrothed to her sister. Tomas's body language was a clear sign to Sansa and she removed her head from his back, keeping her distance as much as the horse would allow.

"You don't like horses?" Tomas asked.

"I love horses!" Sansa declared, her voice as sweet as honey.

Tomas frowned. He grew up in King's Landing and could recognize a liar and a flatter from a mile away. It was the kind of thing he has grown to despise. "Why don't you have a horse of your own?" Tomas asked.

"Father doesn't allow it," replied Sansa.

"He lets Arya ride," Tomas pointed out.

"I am not my sister," explained Sansa.

"That much is clear," Tomas said coolly.

Sansa became quiet on his back, having known she said something wrong. Sandor spotted Arya up ahead by the Trident river brushing the mud from her direwolf. Tomas slowed down his horse until it came to a full stop next to the Hound and Lady ran off ahead to greet Nymeria. Arya turned her head to the trio and only glanced at the prince for a moment before returning to her direwolf. Sansa frowned at her sister's poor manners, but Tomas could only smile. "It's good to see you again," Tomas greeted. "Trapped inside the wheelhouse I almost had almost forgotten what you look like."

"What do you want?" Arya asked bluntly. Struggling to hold Nymeria still so she could get the tangles out of her fur.

"Arya, you are speaking to the prince," scolded Sansa.

"That's quite all right," Tomas interjected. "I had hoped we could ride together," he told Arya.

"I already promised Mycah we would ride upstream and look for rubies at the ford."

"Mycah?" asked Tomas.

"The butcher's boy son," answered Sansa.

"And my friend," Arya snapped back.

"You have strange taste in friends, little girl," said Sandor.

"So does the prince," Arya retorted, looking right at Sandor who stared back at her. Tomas was impressed. There weren't many who could silence the Hound.

"Why would there be rubies here?" asked Sansa. Arya looked at her like she was stupid, Tomas smile stayed kind. That has been noted by many in his family to be a weakness. He was _too_ kind for his own good.

"At the Battle of the Trident, my father drove his warhammer into the chest of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen knocking the rubies off his breastplate into the ford. It'd be quite the little adventure if one was to find them." At that, Tomas dismounted. "If you would be willing to have me, I would like to accompany you and Mycah in the search."

"You just want the rubies for yourself," accused Arya.

"I would not try to take rubies from someone with a direwolf," replied Tomas.

"Arya isn't supposed to leave the column," Sansa noted.

"And I wasn't supposed to leave the inn," Tomas told her. "I think we could fetch some rubies and make it back before either of our parents notice us missing. If you would rather return to the inn the Hound will accompany you."

"Is it wise to leave your protector?" asked Sansa.

Tomas pulled up his pants leg and showed the knife that was attached to his ankle. "A prince can't always rely on his royal guards to protect him." He then let the pants sleeve drop as he noticed a small gasp grow on Sansa's face. "Besides, if anyone is crazy enough to attack us I imagine Nymeria will rip out his throat and lay it at the feet of her master. Now run along."

Sansa reluctantly got on the back of Sandor's horse and returned to the inn with him. Tomas turned to Arya who was still trying to hold Nymeria still as she did the other side of her fur. The crown prince shook his head and moved for the brush. "You're doing it wrong. Here, let me show you." Nymeria immediately growled at him in response and Arya pulled her arm back to keep the brush away.

"She doesn't want you touching her," Arya yelled. Tomas relented and allowed Arya to continue.

"You're upset with me," observed Tomas.

"I don't want to marry you," replied Arya. "I don't want to be your lady or your queen or mother your children."

"What do you want?" asked Tomas curiously.

Arya looked at him with gray steel for eyes. "I want to fight and explore the countryside. I want to ride in the tournaments and learn to joust."

"Sounds like the life of a hedge knight would suit you perfectly," Tomas noted. Arya only stared at him, unsure if his words were sincere or mocking. "You will be able to do all of those things and more as queen."

"All a queen is expected to do is have babies and look pretty," Arya said flatly.

"If I wanted a queen to have my babies and look pretty I would be betrothed to your sister, but I'm not, am I?" Tomas crouched down by Arya's side, but made sure to keep his distance in case Nymeria headed his way. "Will you at least get to know me before you pass judgment? If you still have no interest by then I'll call off the engagement."

"Why?" asked Arya.

"I want to earn your respect."

"No. I mean why did you request to marry me?"

Tomas curved his lips into a kind smile. "Because I want a warrior as my queen. Not a lady." Arya continued to look at him unsure. Tomas couldn't blame her since he looked so much like his mother and that alone made him hard to trust.

"Would I have a sword?" she asked.

"Do you plan to fight with your bare hands?" Tomas joked. "Yes, you will have a sword. Whatever sword you want."

"And my sigil? Would you wear that as well?"

"If you feel I have earned it I would be honored to wear your sigil next to mine."

The prince noticed Arya realized he has been looking in her eyes and she returned the glance with a grim look on her long face that matched her father's to a tee. "They say you only look someone in the eye when you lie," said Arya.

"Not these eyes," Tomas reassured her. "Never _these_ eyes."

The stare felt like it has gone on for an eternity. Feeling bold, Tomas closed the gap between himself and Arya, never once breaking eye-contact with the small girl as he leaned in to find her lips. When his intentions became clear to both her and the direwolf, Nymeria bared her teeth at him for the second time since their meeting and Arya shoved him into the ground. "You're an idiot!" she shouted, holding back Nymeria as she stormed off in a huff.

Tomas got back up to his feet and looked at her. "Does this mean you like me?" Tomas instantly regretted those words as Arya turned back around and marched towards him; shoving him back to the ground for a second time before returning to her direwolf. Tomas could only laugh and watched Arya off as he pulled himself back to his feet. "I know how to pick them," he said more to himself than anyone. "I know how to pick them..."


	7. Chapter 7

Tomas accompanied an irritable Arya Stark to the nearby town where Mycah was said to live along the Green Fork. He smiled at her only for the small girl to return his smile with a glare as she was still clearly upset over the attempted kiss from earlier. Nymeria was not far off, staying between their horses as this time the crown prince was smart enough to keep his distance from the girl and her pet wolf.

The smallfolk stared at the crown prince in awe. It was clear from the look on their faces that not many royalty came up through here. The town was worn and beaten and the people were barely managing to get by with the dirt on their faces and the rags on their backs. Tomas's clean face and clothes would have been enough to differentiate him from the rest, let alone the gowns of the royal family.

"You're drawing too much attention," said Arya annoyed. "They'll never leave us be."

Tomas frowned. The last thing he wanted to do was spoil the girl's day. Arya had light amounts of dirt on her own face and the riding leather she wore made her blend in with the town here more than the prince ever could. Beggars came up to Tomas's horse pleading the prince for any money he had on his person. Tomas felt guilty that he did not think to bring any money with him, although his robes could probably pay for a grand feast for the entire village. He continued past them keeping his head down and Arya looked at him disgusted as she tossed some silver she had remaining into the path of the beggars who dropped to their knees to pick it up and thanked the girl for her kindness. Tomas avoided eye-contact with the girl. At this rate he was never going to get on her good side.

"We're here," said Arya, coming to a stop.

Tomas looked in front of him to see a meat wagon, the smell caused his nose to winkle and eyes to water. It was the most disgusting smell in this entire village and he was left wondering what kind of game Arya was playing, looking at her bemused at the recent development.

"A meat wagon?" Tomas asked.

"This is where Mycah lives," said Arya climbing down her horse.

"A meat wagon?" Tomas repeated.

"We all can't live in a castle," replied Arya.

Arya dug around in the meat wagon until red hair so bright it looked orange could be seen sticking out of it. Tomas tilted his head as Arya whacked the boy with a piece of meat. "Wake up, Mycah," said Arya.

The boy groaned and stood up out of the wagon rubbing his eyes. His face was as rough as his living conditions and freckles covered his cheeks. "Arya?" The boy asked, his vision beginning to clear to see the girl and the prince.

"We're headed to the Ruby Ford, come on," said Arya.

The boy's eyes settled on the prince. "My lord!"

Tomas only blinked, not used to the address. It was obvious the boy didn't recognize him as a prince, which he found odd given how well known both his families are, unless the boy just didn't know his addresses.

"This is Prince Tomas," Arya introduced. "Prince Tomas, Mycah. Mycah, Prince Tomas."

"M-my prince!" said Mycah nervously.

Tomas waved while smiling the best he could through the smell that radiated off of the boy. Arya let Mycah ride behind her and galloped so fast Tomas got the impression she was trying to ditch him. In truth she was probably just trying to lose the villagers Tomas attracted with his presence. The prince picked up speed on his own horse to stay by her side on the way to the Ruby Ford. Out of the corner of Tomas's eye, Mycah kept looking over in his direction making the crown prince uncomfortable. "Is something on my face?" Tomas asked.

"N-no, my prince," replied Mycah. "It's your hair. It shines differently in the light.

Tomas's lips let out an "ah" sound in response and lazily twirled a finger through his curly locks. "That's because I was born with gold hair that shined like the sun," Tomas explained. "Before my fourteenth nameday I took some hair dye from the handmaidens and colored my hair. It was a right mess dripping wet on the floor. When my father saw me he said, "What in the seven hells did you do to your hair!" But when he thought about how Mother would react, he ordered the handmaidens to finish the job for me. The look on my mother's face when she saw me afterwords. If looks could kill I would not be having this conversation."

"Why did you dye it?" asked Arya.

"I wanted to look more like my father," replied Tomas. "The Baratheons always had hair as black as a crow's feathers and mine was nowhere near as dark. I hated looking like my mother and wanted to look as close to my father as was possible."

"Except you don't," said Arya. "You still look like your mother."

"Don't remind me," replied the prince.

"You shouldn't change your hair just to appease your father," said Arya.

"Not even if I really want to?" asked Tomas in a humorous tone similar to his uncle, Tyrion.

Arya looked at Tomas annoyed for a brand new set of reasons before she and Mycah hopped off their horse when they arrived at the Ruby Ford. Tomas only chuckled at the stare, finding it funny that the girl even cared what he did with his hair. The pair's eyes were fixated on the ground searching for anything red that glowed. All that was on the ground aside from grass were rocks, sticks, and dirt. Lots and lots of dirt. Tomas didn't expect any of the rubies from Rhaegar's armor to still be here. The Battle of the Trident happened years ago before any of them were even born. If there were rubies to be found they would have been uncovered and probably sold already. But Tomas didn't want to ruin their fun so he said nothing during his dismount.

Tomas caught a glare from the dark gold eyes of the direwolf while approaching the pair. He followed her glance to the pants sleeve that concealed the knife on his ankle. _Does she think I intend to stab them? _Tomas thought to himself. Almost finding the thought amusing if true. He would have never showed anyone the knife in the first place if he intended to stab somebody with it. As a gesture of good will, Tomas removed the strap from his ankle and rested it on his horse's saddle. A smile gracing his face at Nymeria who only stared back at him in kind. Tomas slowly walked over to Arya and Mycah, not wanting to make any sudden movements that gave the direwolf cause for concern. The last thing he needed was to be tackled to the ground and ripped apart.

"You find anything?" Tomas asked.

"No," replied Mycah, disappointed.

"We only started looking," said Arya, looking at Tomas. "He was your father. Where were they standing when he knocked the rubies off?"

Tomas raised an eyebrow at the question. "Do you really expect my father to be able to remember that far back? I can't even remember what I did a fortnight ago."

"Whatever," Arya replied, moving on ahead until she came across a big stick on the ground. "Look!" She picked the stick up and swung it in her hand like a sword. "It's big enough to be a practice sword."

"Careful, Mycah, she's armed," joked Tomas.

Mycah laughed and Arya gave a not at all amused "Hah, hah" in response; picking up another stick of similar size and tossing it to Tomas. "Let's see what you can do then, _my prince_."

Tomas stared at the stick like it was a foreign object and then back at Arya in uncertainty. Mycah was already backing away from the two to give them room.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" asked Arya.

"I was told never to strike a lady," replied Tomas.

"_Don't _call me that!" demanded Arya.

"Would you rather I call you a boy?" asked Tomas.

Arya swung the stick at him forcing the prince to block. "Don't call me that either!" she said.

"What in the seven hells do you want me to call you!?" Tomas shot back.

"My name is Arya!" she yelled, striking at the prince some more with the stick. Tomas could only parry each strike and back away at her aggression. "Fight back!" she cried.

"I would fight back if you'd stop swinging that bloody stick at me!"

Tomas ran to the left only to be cut off by Arya by the time he got there. He then ran right, once again being blocked by Arya who swung at him again and barely missed. The girl was fast. Faster than Robb. Of course she was nowhere near as strong given her small stature, even still, those strikes at his hand hurt like hells when she got him. He was thankful neither his father nor Uncle Renly was here to see this. His father would have him disciplined for being beaten up by a girl and Renly would be laughing his beautiful ass off at the sight. The only witnesses to the display was a peasant boy and an animal that couldn't talk and he pointed his stick at the peasant boy. "You're not to breathe a word of this to anyone."

"Not a word to anyone, right," said Mycah.

"Not to breathe a word of what?" asked Arya, repeatedly beating the stick across his back.

"Hey!" yelled Tomas.

"Not to breathe a word of what?" the girl asked again, striking the stick at him harder.

"You're an abusive little child, you know that?" asked Tomas.

Tomas screamed when Arya chased him around the ford, more laughter drew from Mycah's breath and the direwolf tilted her head at the scene. Arya kept swinging at him and Tomas had difficulty keeping his balance. "Quit it!" he said, his anger starting to rise as Arya wouldn't relent. "I said quit it!" Tomas shouted, shoving Arya to the ground in his anger. Tomas was surprised at himself, not believing that he actually just did that. Arya's gray eyes stared at him furiously.

"Arya, I'm sorry," Tomas said.

"You are just a little shit!" Arya yelled.

"Let me help you."

Tomas went over to help her up, but Arya slapped his hand away. "Don't touch me!" she cried.

"I'm only trying to–!"

"I said don't touch me!"

Tomas reached his hand out to grabs her and she slapped it away each time. They struggled, Mycah stepping forward debating internally whether or not he should do something while Arya's direwolf got up on all fours. The snarl from Nymeria didn't even register to either of them until it was too late. Tomas felt the wolf's massive teeth bite down on his wrist causing ample amount of pain to shoot through his entire arm as a result. Arya gasped in surprise and Tomas screamed, holding onto his wrist and backing away squirming. Mycah ran over to check on the prince, Arya holding Nymeria back from doing any more damage looking on in concern.

"Are you all right, my prince?" asked Mycah.

"Do I look bloody all right to you!?" yelled Tomas.

"Don't yell at him!" shouted Arya.

"I'll yell at whoever I like your damn wolf bit me!"

"She didn't mean to. She thought I was in danger. If the queen finds out she's going to want to hurt Nymeria."

Tomas saw the fear and pleading in Arya's eyes and it was enough to bring him down from his anger. He looked to his wrist, the direwolf had gotten him on his sword hand. Blood was starting to drip down his arm from where the two bite marks were. The colors left his cheek and he thought he was going to faint at the mere sight of it, but he willed himself through it.

"My mother doesn't need to know I'm hurt," said Tomas. "Mycah, if you'd please."

Mycah escorted Tomas over to the river where they washed out the wound. Tomas bit down on his lower lip to suppress the scream that wanted to dive out of his mouth at the washing. They managed to wash away most of the blood but more continued to draw from the wound and Tomas did his best not to throw up.

"I need something to stop the bleeding," said Tomas.

"I don't have anything," replied Mycah.

Arya looked between the two, ripping off her arm sleeve and walking over to where the prince was. She gently took him by the arm and wrapped her piece of cloth around the wound like a bandage, pulling down the sleeve on his robes to hide it much like the knife that was on his ankle.

"Thank you," said Tomas.

"Are you sure we're going to be able to hide this from your mother?" asked Arya.

Tomas wasn't sure, but he nodded nonetheless. "Anyone ask about your sleeve just say you tore it on something. I think they'd believe that."

Arya would have glared at him for that if it wasn't for the circumstances, that much the prince knew. "Can you ride?" she asked.

"No," the prince answered. "I can't ride with my right hand. I'll have to walk it."

"I'll go on ahead and take Mycah home. Meet you at the inn."

Tomas nodded, watching Arya take off with Mycah and Nymeria, the words "thank you" mouthing off from the girl's lips just before the distance swallowed them whole. He wasn't sure to be proud, ashamed, embarrassed, or a combination of the three, but Tomas at least took comfort in knowing he did something right in the end. He walked over to his horse's side, placing the knife he left on the saddle back on his ankle now that Nymeria wasn't there to give him a hard time about it. He gripped the end of the rope that tied around the animal's nose and led it across the ford.

Tomas looked down to his injured wrist and chuckled lightly. _My first battle scar and I can't even show it to anybody. _If it could even qualify. Emerald green eyes gazed out to the countryside, taking in the beauty of it all on his way back to the inn. Tomas was already thinking of a convincing lie to tell anyone who became the least bit suspicious about his wrist and how his body language should play out. He found it amusing that he was going through so much trouble to protect the pet of a girl who was mean to him. All because he liked her in spite of the fact.

_The things I do for love._


	8. Chapter 8

Tomas did his best to conceal the pain visible on his face from the wolf bite upon his return to the inn. He looked up ahead to see his father and Eddard Stark had just made it with the rest of the traveling party. But he didn't see Arya anywhere. No doubt she wanted to reign her wolf in before coming back to the inn to avoid another incident. Tomas tried to keep his mind off the pain while tying up his horse to the front of the inn. He wasn't the best at tying a knot on his best days, but the pain still fresh in his arm made it seldom impossible for him to focus. He wanted to scream, to shout, but the only thing he could do was suppress his anguish to avoid suspicion. _You just had to lose your temper. _Tomas scolded himself. It seemed the only time he made any headway on the field was when he was mad, and being mad wasn't the best emotion to be consumed by in a battle. Anger made you stupid, and being stupid was a good way to get yourself killed.

"My prince," said Ser Barristan, breaking Tomas from his thoughts.

"Ser Barristan," replied Tomas in greeting.

"Need a hand?" he asked.

"I know how to tie a knot."

"Of course."

While Tomas struggled with his arm in silence, his mind returned to the dream he had about the Targaryen girl, remembering that Ser Barristan served their house before his father ascended the throne. "You're familiar with High Valyrian, are you not, Ser Barristan?"

"Yes, my prince."

"Do you know what 'Dracarys' means?"

"Dracarys?" Barristan repeated. "It means dragonfire."

"Dragonfire..." Tomas trailed off, reminded of how real the heat of the flames felt in the dream.

"Is something wrong, my prince?" asked Barristan.

"No," Tomas lied. "I read the word in a book and wondered what it meant is all."

"I'm glad I could be of service," replied Barristan with a bow before heading inside the inn.

"Dragonfire," Tomas said again absentmindedly as he finished tying up his horse.

The king's party retreated into the inn to eat and drink. Even his little sister and baby brother were allowed time with their father. The only ones not present was his mother the queen, and Uncle Jaime who Tomas expected were still in the wheelhouse. Now if only a storm would brew and set the wheelhouse ablaze with a stroke of lightning. That would make up for the direwolf trying to take off his bloody arm. To the boy's dismay there wasn't a cloud in the sky and even if there was, Tomas doubted the gods would see fit to send lightning. His mother was likely to outlive him and the rest of his siblings.

Tomas was the last one to enter the inn looking at everyone inside. Ned was with his own men while King Robert drank with his. Uncle Renly was at his father's side as well as well. Even Ser Ilyn Payne, the royal executioner was present. _That isn't a good omen at all, _the boy thought. Tomas tried to sneak upstairs to where the rooms were so he could be alone, but before he could get there he was spotted by his father.

"There you are," the king called. "Get over here."

The prince looked on hesitantly. The last thing he needed was one of his father's "pat on the backs" when he could barely stand the pain shooting through his arm already. "I'm very tired, my lord father. I would like to hurry to bed if I may."

"Tired?" questioned the king. "What do you have to be tired of you've been in that damn wheelhouse all day. Sit down and eat!"

Tomas bowed his head in defeat and sat down by his father's side. He used his right hand to eat hoping that nobody would notice. When his left hand became necessary he made sure to move it across the table slowly as not to cause any more strain to it. Joffrey was the first to notice, like an animal who smelled blood, and his father closely followed suit, blue eyes looking down upon his eldest son. "You're moving that arm awful slow, boy," he told him.

"I cramped it up," Tomas lied. "From being stuffed inside that wheelhouse for the past few days."

Robert led his table in a chorus of laughter and sent a thunderous clap against the back of the crown prince with his hand. Tomas had to bite his lower lip to keep from screaming and Joffrey decided to use this time to strike, reaching from across the table and grabbing Tomas's wrist pulling on it prompting a scream to exit the crown prince's mouth that plunged the room into silence.

"What are you doing boy!?" Robert roared at Joffrey who was all too quick to let go of his brother's arm.

"He's lying!" exclaimed Joffrey, pointing at Tomas. "I saw you take off with Lady Sansa and the Hound. Whatever happened to you didn't happen in the wheelhouse."

"Let me see the arm," commanded Robert.

"N-no," whimpered Tomas.

"Show me your arm!" the king shouted.

"Your Grace, if you'd allow me," said Ser Barristan, walking over to the prince's side.

Barristan gently took Tomas's arm in his hands and rolled back the sleeve. His eyes glanced over the piece of clothing wrapped around his wrist and he disrobed it showing the direwolf bite for all to see. Tomas closed his eyes and looked away, ashamed he wasn't able to keep this a secret for more than a few minutes. Myrcella leaned in concerned and Tommen looked on through wide eyes. Joffrey looked far too pleased at the result of the bite. Tomas stared at him in loathing.

"There's only one thing that could cause a mark like this," said Ser Barristan.

"A direwolf," replied King Robert.

Eddard rose in his seat while Sansa sank into hers, holding Lady close. Renly chuckled in an attempt to lighten the mood. "You don't have much luck with wolves, do you?" he joked. Tomas would have laughed in any other instance. Not this time.

"Spit it out, boy," King Robert said. "Which direwolf was it?"

Before Tomas could utter a single word the inn's door came open and everyone's attention went straight to Arya with Nymeria to her right. It was as if the gods saw it fit to play a cruel joke on him, timing the girl's arrival just right for there to be no doubt. The look on the prince's face only making it more obvious that it was Nymeria. Not that it mattered. There were only two direwolves in the king's party and plenty of witnesses that could account for Lady's whereabouts during the prince's absence. Who else could it have been except Arya's? Tomas could see the anger in her eyes when they found his and Arya ran out of the inn with Nymeria and the king began to rise from his own seat before Ned stepped forward.

"Your Grace," Ned began, "please allow me to bring her back."

Robert glance turned to his long-time friend and he simply nodded. Ned motioned for Ser Jory to accompany him and the two headed out. Robert turned back to his son and asked, "How long were you planning to keep this secret from me?"

"I'm sorry, lord father, I was afraid Mother would harm the direwolf if she found out. I promised not to tell anyone."

"Mother?" questioned King Robert. "Mother!?" he repeated, more loudly than before. "I'm the king, be afraid of me! If you weren't my son I could have your head removed for lying to me! Off with you – and get that damn wound cleaned proper!"

"Please don't kill the wolf," Tomas pleaded, but Robert said nothing further. The prince was escorted up to his room at the inn by Baratheon knights who double checked his wound and bandaged him up before leaving him in peace. He laid down in bed but he couldn't sleep. All the young prince could do was stare up at the ceiling terrified that his mother was going to butcher that poor creature and Arya would hate him forever. Already voices could be heard coming up the stairs, his father drowning out all others alongside his mother's voice. He had grown used to hearing them fight. It was all they ever did when the silence didn't take hold.

Light footsteps approached his door. Too light to be mistaken for his father or the armored legs of his uncle. Too light to be any of the men, really. He knew Arya wasn't likely to visit him and Sansa wouldn't want to get in trouble. That only left one woman. A woman he didn't want to see. Tomas closed his eyes just as the bedroom door opened and the footsteps came up to his bed. His mother's perfume made his nose flare and the feeling of being watched by those emerald green eyes of her made him uneasy. Things were quiet for a brief moment after Cersei stopped walking. So quiet Tomas thought perhaps his mother would depart. But she was quick to squash that hope like so many other things in the past. "You don't think I can tell when you're faking?" she asked, causing Tomas to scream internally.

"I do not wish to be disturbed," Tomas replied, without even opening his eyes.

"You should know by now that no one gets what they wish. Show me your arm."

"You should know by now that no one gets what they wish for," Tomas threw back at her, opening his eyes to watch her facial expression. It looked as though she was using all of her strength not to show her anger. The amount of satisfaction it gave Tomas to observe could not be put into words, but it was a short lived victory. His mother pulled the blankets off of him and forced him up to a sit, lifting up his sleeve and unwrapping the bandages to take a look at the damage inflicted by the direwolf.

"That girl attacked you and you would protect her?" asked Cersei.

"Arya didn't attack me, Mother." Tomas pulled his arm away from her. "The wolf misunderstood what we were doing when she attacked me. She was only trying to protect her own."

"Misunderstood?" Cersei questioned. "And what was it that the beast misunderstood?"

"We were practice fighting," Tomas explained. "I knocked her down and that's when the wolf attacked me."

Cersei gave Tomas a smile. It was a warm smile, nothing like the ones she gave those in Winterfell or those she despised. It was the same smile she would always give when he was younger. A comforting smile that told him everything was going to be all right. She took his hand and held it gently in her own. The moment would have been perfect until his mother spoke again, "She attacked you." And that brief moment of relief was taken away. "Outraged that she was to be married off."

"No, mother," replied Tomas. "That's not what–!"

"But you managed to get away," Cersei continued, wrapping the bandages back around his arm. "You only didn't say anything before to spare the girl because of the love your father bores her father. That's what you're going to say when Arya is brought before the king."

"And if I don't?" challenged Tomas.

Cersei tightened the bandages around Tomas's arm causing him to grunt in pain. "If you don't I'll see to it Jaime has the girl punished accordingly." She threatened.

Tomas instantly went pale at those words. He remembered what happened to Bran at Winterfell, how his mother and Jaime were nowhere to be found when it occurred. The Lannisters were not known to make idle threats. It ate at him, but Tomas reluctantly agreed with a silent nod. Cersei kissed his forehead goodnight and took her leave as he laid back down on his bed. If he couldn't sleep before he was never going to get any sleep now.


	9. Chapter 9

Arya managed to give her father the slip because in the end it took an entire hunting party to find her, and still the direwolf was nowhere to be found. In a way, Tomas was grateful. The days spent searching for Arya bought him time, time he could use to come up with a plan to save Arya and not be used to whatever end his mother had planned. Only he wasn't the thinker. That was Tyrion's calling in life. If Tyrion was here he would already have a plan to outmaneuver his mother and Arya would be safe. He wouldn't have to lie in front of Stark men he was confident would see past it.

Ever since the search they had been staying at Castle Darry, a small castle south of the Trident. Lord Raymun Darry was said to be a Targaryen's loyalist and Tyrion told him about the tapestries of past Targaryen kings he found in the cellar. Staying in the castle made the prince uneasy. Aerys II Targaryen earned the name "Aerys the Mad" among other things during his reign as king. How crazy did his followers have to be to still be loyal to him after all this time?

A crowd gathered inside the audience chambers with his father sitting in a chair that looked way more comfortable than the chair he seldom sat in back at King's Landing. Many of the Lannister men were there, much to the prince's dismay. The only friendly faces in the crowd were Rently, Barristan, and the Hound. He was brought to his mother's side who stood next to his father when Arya was brought in before the king. Time was running out and soon he'd be called on to tell lies in front of everyone. He had to think of something, but what? Arya looked terrified and near tears, not recognizing a single person in the lot of them and she wouldn't even look in his direction. Not that Tomas could blame her.

The audience chambers door swung open and in came Ned Stark looking furious, taking his daughter into his arms. Arya's tears finally fell from her eyes as Tomas could overhear her saying "I'm sorry" over and over again as Ned comforted her. He turned to the king and demanded to know why he wasn't told his daughter was found. Tomas has never heard anyone speak to his father like that and Cersei was quick to reprimand him for it only to be silenced by his father seconds later. Robert called on Arya to recount the events that happened at the Trident and she did so. Every detail. She even saw it fit to explain how badly she beat him during their practice fight which was enough to invoke laughter out of Renly and irritate his father even further.

"Ser Barristan, escort my brother from the hall before he chokes," said Robert.

Renly stopped his laugh and looked to Barristan, "My brother is too kind. I can find the door myself." He bowed to Tomas. "Perchance later you'll tell me how a nine-year-old girl the size of a wet rat managed to beat you so profoundly." Renly let himself out and Tomas only looked to his feet humiliated when his father called on him. It was the moment he's been dreading since entering the hall. The moment where he was meant to recite a different story than the one Arya told.

Tomas stepped out from behind his mother and moved to be next to his father, meanwhile inside his head he was still thinking of a way to get out of this. He didn't want to lie, and he didn't want to get Arya or her pet wolf in trouble. But if he didn't lie Cersei would do far worse to the girl. There had to be a way where he could do as his mother wanted but nothing bad would happen to Arya. Then it occurred to him. Words Jaime spoke back at Winterfell played through his head. _You only look a man in the eye when you lie._ That was it. That was his way out.

"Well, don't just stand there giving me that look," said Robert. "Tell me what happened!"

"Y-yes, father." Tomas made sure to look his father in the eyes so his plan would work. "What my mother says is true. Arya attacked me–"

"Liar!" shouted Arya. "Liar! Liar! Liar! Liar!"

"Arya, please," pleaded Ned, holding his daughter back, "be quiet."

Tomas didn't look at Arya or any of the eyes that were on him. He kept eye-contact with his father and didn't miss a beat. If Arya hated him forever then so be it. Tomas would rather she be alive and mad at him than dead. "She attacked me and set her direwolf on me. I was barely able to escape. Even then, I didn't want the girl to be punished." Tomas broke eye-contact with his father before finishing, "I care about her."

The king rose from his seat and Tomas backed away to give him room. Looking at him the young prince could tell he wanted to be here about as much as he did. "What in all the seven hells am I supposed to make of this?" he asked, looking towards Ned Stark. "He says one thing, she says another."

Tomas frowned. It seemed his plan failed and Robert was nowhere closer to finding out the truth in the matter. It was then Ned Stark who spoke up, "They were not the only ones present."

"A butcher's boy?" Robert asked. "You'd have me decide this on the word of a peasant?"

"I believe he will tell the truth, Your Grace."

"Is your son's word not enough?" asked Cersei.

Robert growled. "Damn it, children fight. It's over. No lasting harm was done."

"Tom will carry those scars for the rest of his life."

"So he will. Perhaps they will teach him a lesson. Ned, see that your daughter is disciplined. I will do the same with my son."

"Gladly, Your Grace," Ned replied.

Tomas was relieved and he could see the same in Ned's eyes. He done what his mother wanted and the worse Arya would receive was a scolding from her father. Perhaps a smack on the hand? He didn't know how northerns punished their children and he didn't care to know. But before the king could even make it halfway across the hall his mother called after him, "And what of the direwolf?" And Tomas shot a glare at his mother with all the hatred and loathing that one could muster.

"What of the beast that savaged your son?" she continued.

"I'd forgotten about the damned wolf," Robert replied irritably.

"We found no trace of the direwolf, Your Grace," said Jory.

"No?" questioned Robert. "So be it."

"A hundred golden dragons to the man who brings me its skin!" said Cersei loudly.

"A costly pelt," replied Robert. "I want no part of this, woman. You can damn well buy your furs with Lannister gold."

"I had not thought you so niggardly," said Cersei coolly. "The king I'd thought to wed would have laid a wolfskin across my bed before the sun went down."

"That would be a fine trick, without a wolf," Robert snapped back.

"We have a wolf," replied Cersei.

From the queen's words there was only silence. Tomas looked to his mother and the meaning behind her words came to him at the same time it did everyone else. She spoke of Lady, Sansa's direwolf. The wolf that had nothing to do with the events at the Trident.

"As you will," said Robert. "Have Ser Ilyn see to it."

"Robert, you cannot mean this," said Ned.

"Father, please!" Tomas pleaded.

"You had your chance to do the honorable thing," Robert told his son before turning his attention back to Ned.

Tomas turned to his mother, glaring at her. Cersei only looked back at him with the same cold eyes she'd give his father. He hated her more than Jaime and Joffrey combined. He hated her above all others. Without another word spoken, Tomas left the hall and quickened his step. If he couldn't get his parents to show mercy for the wolf then he'd take matters into his own hands.

He found Lady chained up outside of the gatehouse. Yellow eyes looked up at him curiously while Tomas struggled to untie the chain holding her in place. The boy grunted, growing frustrated with the chains that were too strong for him to break. He could hear the heavy footsteps of his father and the wailing of both Sansa and Arya echoing across the halls of the castle. "Come on!" Tomas growled, applying all his upper-body strength until a blade out of nowhere struck and the chains to fell to the ground. When Tomas turned his head he saw the Hound standing over him, sword in hand. Lady stood up and ran off away from the castle before Tomas could even think of a way to chase her off.

"The pup is like her mother," the Hound started, "terrified at the sight of me."

"Thank you," said Tomas.

"Come, little stag. They'll know it was you if you linger."

Tomas would have kissed the Hound despite his half burnt face if it wasn't for the fact Sandor would have knocked him on his ass for it. They retreated behind the trees and watched as it was Ned Stark who came out to find Lady's chains have been broken.

"They sent Ned?" asked Tomas quietly.

"Northern doesn't want to leave the job to a butcher," Sandor deducted.

Ned knelt down and looked over the chain. Grey eyes looked down to the ground to make out three set of tracks and Tomas worried that he would discover it was him and the Hound who released the direwolf. Jory was the next man to come out with Ned's sword in his hands only to stop and notice the absence of Lady. The look in his eyes was one of wondering, as if he thought Ned had done the deed, but in the end Ser Jory knew better than that. Tomas's eyes rested on Ned's sword, Ice, which the Hand returned to his waist.

"Valyrian steel," stated Tomas. "I never seen it this close before."

"Steel is steel," said the Hound. "As long as it cuts it doesn't matter how it's made."

"Do you think he knows it was us?" asked Tomas.

"Don't suppose it matters much. You're already to be punished."

"You think he'd be thanking us. We saved Lady."

"Starks are too far up their own ass with honor and duty to care about much else."

"Do you think I did the right thing?"

"No sense wasting fur on your mother."

"Amen to that."

Tomas and the Hound watched Ned and Jory walk off in search of the direwolf before leaving the safety of the trees and headed back to the castle.

"I have one more favor to ask of you," said Tomas.

"What?"

"I need you to keep an eye on Arya. Don't let Jaime anywhere near her."

Sandor looked down at the prince and then back to the path ahead. "Consider it done."


	10. Chapter 10

Tomas had avoided Arya since the incident at Castle Darry. Even going as far as to stomach riding with his mother in the wheelhouse the rest of the way to King's Landing so he didn't have to see the Stark girl's gray eyes burning holes in his flesh for the lies he told back at the castle. He kept telling himself that he did the right thing, that he had no choice, that it was his mother who forced his hand. But these were lies that he did not believe. He should have told the truth. He should have warned Ned. The Hand of the King would be more than able to protect Arya and make sure his mother and uncle was punished for such threats, wouldn't he? Tomas wasn't sure. All he knew for sure was that his lies condemned Nymeria and Lady to death and Lady barely escaped the blade herself. The prince could only assume that Arya chased Nymeria away to protect her and that filled his heart with more self-loathing.

Once they returned to the Red Keep in King's Landing, Tomas locked himself up in his room and declared that he did not wish to be disturbed by anyone. He knew his declares wouldn't mean much to his family. Both his father and mother outranked him anyway. Still, it felt good to raise his voice at someone beneath him and watch them tremble. There he spent the next few days having servants tend to him and bring him his meals, refusing to make any public appearances knowing there was a chance Arya could be there. Not knowing what to do or who to talk to, Tomas got himself a quill and some paper and wrote a message to Tyrion for the ravens to send. Knowing that he would have sound council on the matter. He always did. To Tomas dismay, when the raven returned with his reply it said exactly what the prince expected it to, "Talk to Arya," and nothing more.

Tomas crumbled the paper up and threw it away in frustration, but he knew Tyrion was right. As much as it would pain him to confront the girl after Castle Darry, she at the very least deserved an explanation. The crown prince did his best to make himself presentable, dressed in the Baratheon robes that Sansa restitched to perfection before leaving his room for the first time since returning home. Tomas walked down the hallways of the Keep, surrounded by the pale red stone that made up the walls wherever he went, and pass the oak doors with black irons strapped to them. When he asked where Arya was he was told she was in the middle of a dancing lesson. Tomas raised an eyebrow at this, even more so when the people he asked had no idea where the dancing lessons were being held. The prince continued his search, looking all around the Red Keep until he came to the steps that led up to the Tower of the Hand and he stopped.

The prince looked up the steps, steps he hasn't climbed since Lord Jon's passing. It happened within a fortnight after his fourteenth nameday. Ever since then he has been unable to look at the tower the same way again. It only served to remind him what he loss. What both he and his father loss. As if the gods wished to punish him for taking so much pleasure in watching Jaime be unhorsed by Ser Loras Tyrell in the tournament preceding his death. Tomas shook the thoughts from his head, knowing that it did no good to dwell on what has already came to pass. He ascended the steps of the tower and continued his search for Arya coming to the Small Hall, and there she was, wooden sword in hand, trying to strike a bald-headed man whom was much faster than she.

Tomas only watched silently for a moment, that was until Arya caught glimpse of him out of the corner of her eyes and instantly came to a stop, staring at him. "What do you want?" she demanded, prompting the bald man to also halt and look in his direction.

"I was hoping to have a word with you," answered Tomas. "In private, if at all possible."

"No," she answered. "I don't want to be alone with you."

"Prince," spoke the bald man with an accent that could be traced back across the narrow sea, "Arya is in the middle of her lessons. There can be no distractions."

"Forgive me, Ser...?"

"Syrio Forel," the man introduced himself. "And there is no need for such formalities."

"Forgive me, Syrio. I would not be here if it wasn't important." He turned back to Arya. "Please, Arya, it will only take a moment."

"Anything you can say to me can be said in the presence of my dancing master," replied Arya.

Tomas fought to suppress his annoyance, he assumed he wasn't doing a good job of it as he noticed the way Syrio observed him. As if all the man had to do was look him in the eyes and he just knew. That frustrated him further given all the times people have noted the tell in his eyes. "I mean no disrespect, but these words are for your ears only," Tomas persisted.

"Then I will never hear them," Arya told him flatly.

"I'm sorry," Tomas began, his eyes softening as he tried to hold back tears, "I'm sorry for what I did."

"You lied. You lied and you would have gotten Nymeria killed. You nearly got Lady killed!"

"But they're not, though. They're still alive."

"They ran away! I'll never see them again and it's your fault!"

"I did it to protect you."

"Protect me? How are your lies meant to protect me?"

"You have to trust me."

"Why should I? You already proved to be a liar."

"I'm not lying."

"The truth is in the eyes," Syrio told Arya.

Tomas looked on confused, and in the next seconds to pass he felt like he was being inspected as Arya looked at him. Her own eyes trying to find the truth in the matter. _Maybe she could give lessons to my father, _he quipped in his head. Realizing soon after that Arya had stopped her inspection.

"I believe you," she said.

"You do?" the prince questioned.

"Yes," she confirmed.

Tomas felt relieved and took a step closer only to be stopped by the tip of the wooden sword still in her hand. "You're a liar and a coward," Arya told him.

"What?" Tomas said, confused.

"You could have gone to my father, or your father. Instead you chose to lie and now your stupid mother and the Lannisters think I attacked you when I didn't."

"It isn't that simple, Arya."

"Isn't it? You don't think I noticed the Hound over my shoulder? Is that your way of protecting me?"

"Arya–"

"Call it off."

"Call what off?"

"The engagement. Call it off. You asked me to get to know you before I pass my judgment, and I've gotten to know you quite well. You're a liar, a coward, and I will _never _marry you!"

Tomas could feel his heart break. He couldn't protest a single word the girl spoke and it ate him alive inside. The boy couldn't even look Arya in the eye anymore as he was pushed away with her sword. Thank the gods it was made of wood and not steel. He didn't want to think what she would have done with a real sword.

"G-give me another chance," Tomas sniffed. "Your father–"

"Do not presume to know my father!" yelled Arya.

"Stand down," commanded Syrio and Arya obeyed. "You best go, Prince. We still have much to do."

Tomas only nodded, too choked up to say anything more as he turned around. He blew it, that much was clear. Arya would never marry him now and his father would only be angry if he asked to "call it off". _I never should have made that stupid promise, _he told himself. The words he spoke that day to Arya coming back to bite him on the ass.

They were all angry at him for one reason or another. His father was upset because he wasn't the son he thought he should be, his mother was upset because he wasn't the son _she_ wanted him to be, and while he couldn't speak for Ned Stark Tomas figured he couldn't have been happy about what happened back at Castle Darry either. _So this is what it's liked being Uncle Tyrion._ Tomas returned to his bedchambers and jumped in his bed, pulling the sheets over his head and curling up into a ball. The prince closed his eyes and wanted to drift off into an endless sleep so he didn't have to deal with any of the people that plagued his life again. He tossed and turned trying to make himself comfortable in his bed and allowed the peaceful silence to take him.

"How long do you plan to stay locked up in your room?" Until the familiar voice of his mother took it all away.

Tomas sat up in bed and narrowed his eyes over his mother who was sitting at the table over on the right-hand side of his bed near where the balcony was, holding a cup of wine in her hand as she always did. The prince had been so wrapped up in thought he didn't even notice her sitting there when he first came in. "What do you want?" he asked.

"Does a mother need a reason to see her son?" Cersei replied.

Tomas stood up and approached her with piercing green eyes like daggers boring into her. He had learned from the best on that matter, after all. "I hope you're happy. Arya hates me. _Loathes_ me."

"Is that where you went off to? I might have known. The girl has her whole life ahead of her still, she'll get over it. Time heals all wounds."

"What about stubbornness? Or stupidity?" said Tomas, making sure his eyes gave away the fact he was speaking of her on that last bit.

"Or ungrateful sons," Cersei shot back.

"Yes, I have a lot to be grateful for, don't I?" he said sarcastically.

"_You do. _Do you have any idea how many men would kill to be in your position? The crown prince to the Iron Throne."

"I can think of a couple of women as well."

"While other boys will wander the streets hungry, stealing, and killing for scraps you're set to become the most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms. You have a great deal to be thankful for. And that _Stark girl_ is hardly fit to be your queen."

"You're my mother, no girl will ever be fit to be my queen in your eyes."

Cersei said nothing in response. She merely took another sip of her wine, her eyes being the only indicator that Tomas struck the nail on the head.

"What do you want?" Tomas asked again.

"It's my understanding there was a raven sent for you," answered Cersei.

"What of it?"

"May I ask from who?"

"None of your business."

"It was from the little beast, wasn't it?"

"He isn't a beast."

"He killed your grandmother."

"It was an accident."

"You're as bad as your uncle. He pities the monster as well."

"There's certainly a monster in the Lannister line, but it isn't Tyrion."

The words struck enough of a cord with his mother to cause her to rise from her seat. Tomas refused to give his mother an inch, staying put just like he did back at the Guest House in Winterfell. The queen outstretched her hand and Tomas expected to feel it redden his cheek until a gentle caress brushed across it instead and Cersei pulled him into a warm embrace.

Her touch was every bit as welcoming as it was when he was a small boy, and it's felt as those ages have passed since they last been this close together. The young prince hesitated to let his guard down in front of his mother, but he eventually relented. The soft soothing touch of Queen Cersei's hand running through his shoulder-length hair as she comforted him. About what he did not know, nor did he care. Tomas had missed the touch of his mother for some time and that much became apparent in the way he moved beneath her arms. Even after everything she's done she could still get this reaction from him. Was that her endgame? To make him weak? Tomas pulled away abruptly, seeing the hurt and sadness in his mother's eyes before she stormed off without another word, slamming the door shut behind her.

Tomas regretted the decision as soon as the door closed behind him. That may have been his only chance to make peace with his mother.


	11. Chapter 11

Tomas sat alone at a table in the library with books old and large scattered about. He flipped through the thick pages, green eyes scanning up and down the contents that laid within them before turning the page with a look of frustration on his face. He had sat there for hours, the only company being the shelves all around him and the knowledge they contained. King's Landing was buzzing with news of the tournament in the Hand's honor, the Hand himself appearing irritated at the mere mention of it name, and his father the king was ready to walk out onto the field himself with his warhammer and start cracking skulls. And where was he? Inside an old library that only saw use by Grand Maester Pycelle and Tyrion Lannister.

The silence of the library was so heavy you could drop a piece of silver and it would resonate with the entire room. Tomas liked it. After being surrounded by so much noise within the Keep and King's Landing, the silence was a welcome change from what he normally heard. It also made it easy to tell when someone was closing in. That made no difference when all of a sudden the shadow of a bald man could be seen on the table cast from the nearby candle light. At first the prince had thought it was Syrio Forel coming to press him more on _what_ he was protecting Arya Stark from. But when he looked up he only saw the Master of Whispers, Lord Varys.

Lord Varys was a plump, bald man who only ever wore the finest silks he could put together with the most outlandish of colors one could mix. The colors were always enough to make the prince's eyes burned. Tomas was so startled he didn't even realized he had clenched his hand to his chest until Lord Varys granted him an apologetic look on his powdered face. "Forgive me, my prince," the man said, "I did not mean to startle you. I was not expecting anyone to be here."

"It's quite all right," Tomas replied. "Have a seat if it pleases you."

"Thank you, my prince."

Lord Varys pulled out the chair opposite of Tomas and sat down. The prince could see him looking at the books on the table in silent intrigue, catching the cover of one with the slight lift of his finger. "May I ask the sudden intrigue in law, my prince?"

"I'm looking for laws on bastards."

"Bastards? I do hope the cruel songs they sing about the king has not left you with sleepless nights."

"Gods no."

Tomas stopped on a page near the back of the book in his hand and brought his finger on the part that stuck out to him and began to read aloud. "A baseborn son may inherit his father's house if there are no other trueborn sons, or if he is legitimized by royal decree of the king."

"Are you looking to legitimize baseborn children, my prince?"

"Jon Snow," Tomas answered simply.

"The lord Hand's bastard?" questioned Lord Varys. "It was my understanding he traveled north to take the black."

"How did you–?" Tomas stopped himself. "For a moment I forgot to whom I was speaking." Tomas closed the book and leaned back in his chair. "Arya won't speak to me. I thought perhaps if I wrote a royal decree to legitimize her half brother when I become king I may win back her favor."

Varys offered him a look of sympathy, whether or not it was sincere only the gods knew. "A noble gesture, my prince, but by the time you would come into your throne, Jon Snow would have already taken his vows. While he'd no doubt be honored by your decree, it would only serve to further remind him that which he will never have."

Tomas sighed. "I had thought as much."

"While we're on the subject of the north, I do have some good news to report."

"Do you?"

"Bran Stark has awakened from his sleep."

Tomas looked up from his book and a smile graced his lips. It was the first real smile to move his lips since he returned to King's Landing. "He's going to be all right?"

"As much as a cripple boy can be, my prince. And what of you? I heard you received a rather nasty wound yourself on the Kingsroad."

The prince's eyes glanced down to his left arm which he kept to his side and tried not to bend. Ever since being bitten Tomas had relied on his right hand to do everything which his primary hand once performed without much thought. Now the pain had to remind him that his left hand was not up to the task anymore. "I'll live."

"You are your father's son," complimented Varys.

Tomas snorted. That much he knew to be false flattery. He was as much his father's son as Arya was her mother's daughter and all the black hair dye in the world wouldn't change that. A third pair of feet could be heard approaching the table and out from the darkness came Grand Maester Pycelle. Pycelle was an old man with a great white beard that went down to his chest. Hair sparsely remained atop his bald, spotted head. Two dozen heavy chains that stretched from neck to breast signifying his servitude to the realm could be found around his beard. Tomas remembered being a small boy at his study with Pycelle by his side teaching what a young prince needed to know to one day rule the Seven Kingdoms. The old man smiled to the prince and Tomas nodded his head in response as Lord Varys also greeted the maester.

"I have not seen one so young sit here in some time," mused Maester Pycelle. "I would have thought you'd be out in the courtyard watching the Kingsguard train as you always do."

"I had some curiosities to quench," answered Tomas.

The grand maester looked over the books of law scattered about the table and gave the prince an approving smile. "Very good, my prince. Yes, a king should be familiar with the laws of his land. Very good."

"I'll clean up," said Tomas.

"No need," replied Pycelle. "I will see to it. You run along now."

"Thank you, Grand Maester." Tomas turned to Varys. "My lord."

"My prince," Lord Varys replied with a bow of the head.

Tomas excused himself from the table and returned to the hallways of the Keep. On his way to the courtyard Tomas happened across a short, slender man whom gray in his eyes matched the threads of gray found in his dark hair and the small pointed beard that covered his chin. It could be no other than Petyr Baelish, the Master of Coin. Otherwise known as Littlefinger. If Tomas didn't know any better he would swear the small council was watching him.

"My prince," greeted Littlefinger. "It pleases me to see you well enough to traverse the Keep. The other small councilors and I have been worried."

"I thank you for your concern," replied Tomas. "I hear there's a tournament on the horizon?"

"Yes, your father has commanded it in honor of Lord Stark appointment as Hand. Knights from all over the Seven Kingdoms are coming in to compete." Lord Baelish answered, now walking by the prince's side.

"Who all is competing?"

"Your uncles Ser Jaime and Lord Renly, of course. Ser Barristan, Ser Gregor, the Hound, Ser Hugh of the Vale, and the champion of the last tournament, Ser Loras Tyrell."

Tomas mulled over the names. No doubt Jaime would wish to repay Ser Loras for the beating he took on his fourteenth nameday. The Hound may very well only be competing for the chance to unhorse his brother, the Mountain. A man his personal bodyguard had no lasting love for. Something the crown prince could relate to. Ser Hugh of the Vale was the former Hand's squire, knighted not long after Lord Jon's death. Tomas was happy for him, even though his knighting could have came under better circumstances.

"Will any of the Stark men be competing?" asked Tomas.

"I believe Ser Cassel will be riding," replied Littlefinger.

"That's some lineup. Any favorites so far?"

"I wouldn't bet against Ser Gregor, my prince. Or any member of your family."

"My father would," quipped the prince. Lord Baelish allowed himself a laugh only because the prince had done so.

"But will lightning strike twice?" said Littlefinger.

"Only the gods know. Will Lady Arya be at attendance?"

"I expect the lord Hand's entire family will be there. The tournament is in his honor, after all." Littlefinger examined the prince as they came to a stop at the entrance to the courtyard. "How are things between you and your betrothed, if you don't mind my asking?"

Tomas frowned. "Not well."

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Not unless you know how to court a Stark girl."

Lord Baelish smiled. "The Starks are as cool and unyielding as the harsh winters of the north, but there are still things they value: honor, loyalty, family, truth. Prove you hold these things close to your heart and you would have won the trust of the wolf."

"Truth," Tomas repeatedly quietly.

Tomas pondered on that word most of all. Should he tell Ned the truth? That he lied before the king? That Cersei threatened his daughter's life and may very well be behind Bran's fall to keep him in Winterfell? Would that be the honorable thing to do, or was it less honorable if the only reason he did it was to win Arya's heart? The sound of steel on steel from the yard woke Tomas's up from his thoughts, shortly followed by Littlefinger, "If you'd excuse me, my prince, I have some matters to intend to." Littlefinger bowed and then took off, leaving the prince alone with his thoughts and the meeting of blades in the yard.

It seemed as if time stood still while the prince recollected his thoughts. Arya's words replaying in his mind like that of a haunting melody. _You're a liar and a coward. _A liar he could live with. A man wouldn't last a day behind these walls without being a liar, but a coward? That only served to salt the wound already on his pride. Would a coward be able to hold his ground against a scorned Cersei Lannister when they were alone? Would a coward be able to speak with venom against the Kingslayer? Would a coward free an animal who was sentenced to death by order of the king? Tomas shook his head, reassuring himself that a coward would not.

The prince's eyes caught the Tower of the Hand from afar and in that moment he knew what he had to do. If he wanted peace of mind and to mend things with his betrothed there was only one thing to do: tell Eddard Stark the truth.


	12. Chapter 12

The private audience chamber of the Hand was covered in rugs all the way from the Free Cities and wall hangings on the walls. Among them, a single round window as gold as his mother's hair. It was smaller than the private audience chamber of his father, but no Hand worth his salt would have complained or even bat an eyelash at such a development. Lest of all Ned Stark. When he reached the tower he informed Jory Cassel that he had an urgent matter to discuss with the Hand and he went on ahead to inform Eddard. A few moments later he returned and escorted the prince to the chamber and left him alone with Ned. Ned looked at the prince from his chair unsure of what to make of this and Tomas didn't dare utter a single word until he was addressed, afraid that the Hand was still crossed with him after the business on the Kingsroad.

"Well?" started Ned. "What is it you need to tell me?"

Tomas looked to the door that was still open and promptly moved over and closed it before returning to Ned, making it a point to stay clear of the window so no one from his mother's camp would see him from the yard. "It's about my mother."

Ned's body seemed to tense in his seat as he leaned forward. His mother certainly had that effect. "Go on," Ned replied.

"This isn't easy. I'm terrified my mother is going leap out of the shadows and attack me."

"Perhaps a seat would help you be at ease," said Ned, motioning the prince to the chair across the table. "No one can do you harm here."

"Thank you." Tomas took a seat and fiddled with his fingers as he thought about how to put everything into words. "I-I lied. Back at Castle Darry. I lied. What Arya said was the truth." Tomas's eyes went up from his hands into Ned's eye to see how he was reacting to the news, Ned stayed in the same state as before not looking the least bit surprised by this confession. He was obviously waiting for how his mother the queen played into all this, so there was no reason to keep him waiting any longer. "My mother told me to lie. She said if I didn't then she would hurt Arya. I swear to you I never meant to hurt her, or Lady. I didn't even want them to know I was hurt."

Ned held up his hand and Tomas ceased his words, knowing all too well what a raised palm signified growing up. "These are serious accusations, my prince."

"I know. I'll be willing to testify to my father if I must."

Ned shook his head. "You already lied to him once. I'm afraid your testimony would not be enough on its own. Tell me more about why the queen wanted you to lie to your father."

"I do not know, my lord Hand. I assumed it was so my father would call off the betrothal. She was not happy with the arrangement."

"Neither is Arya."

"I think Arya is taking it a little better than my mother," Tomas noted.

"Were you the one who released Lady?" asked Ned.

Tomas paused and that pause was all Eddard needed to know that it was indeed him who set Lady free. The prince didn't regret it. In fact, it was the only thing about that incident he was proud of. It made withstanding his father's whipping a little more bearable knowing he did something right. "Yes, my lord Hand."

Ned stood up from his chair and approached the young prince, resting a hand on his shoulder and letting out a reassuring smile. "You've shown courage coming to me. When the time is right I will call on you. Until then, there is nothing more we can do."

Tomas allowed himself a smile but quickly remembered he almost forgot his suspicions about Bran's fall. The door to the room opened and in came Ser Jory before the crown prince even had the chance to open his mouth to speak.

"My lord, forgive the intrusion," said Jory, "But Lord Baelish is in the solar and wish to speak with you."

"Tell him I'll be on my way," replied Ned. Jory went on his way and Ned turned back to Tomas. "My prince, I'm afraid I must bring this discussion to an end."

Tomas stood up. "I still have something to tell you."

"Another time. Come, my men will show you out."

"I know the way through the tower," Tomas insisted. "Besides, I think it's best I not be seen with your people. Just in case..."

"Very well."

Ned was the first to leave his chambers closely followed by Tomas. Tomas stayed behind the Hand until he went off to meet Lord Baelish in his solar and the prince continued on down the hall reflecting on his decision here today. Tomas's eyes looked around the halls paranoid, fearful that one of his mothers spies were not far away. Many people kept spies and his mother knew many loyal to the Lannisters. If any of them saw him coming out of the tower it would raise suspicion and as much as it damaged his ego, he knew that he would not be able to keep his silence if Uncle Jaime was sent by Mother to beat him. A faint meowing broke the prince from his thoughts and he looked down to see a cat running past him. As soon as he looked up a boy in rags ran into him causing both of them to fall to the floor.

"Watch where you're going!" shouted Tomas, angrily. Though it was just as much his fault as it was the boy's. When he got up to his feet he looked in the direction of the boy and saw eyes of steel burning back towards him. The boy didn't need to say a word for the prince to know it wasn't a boy at all. It was Arya Stark.

"You should watch where _you're _going!" she snapped back.

"I-I'm sorry," stuttered the prince. "I thought you were a–"

"A boy?" Arya finished. "You wouldn't be the first," she added with irritation. "What are you doing here? I already told you I've no interest to marry you."

_You made that much clear,_ thought Tomas bitterly. Still hurt over the words Arya had spoken to him not long after first returning to King's Landing. He could not dispute them, but that didn't mean he had to like it. Tomas was hopeful however that his next words would begin to win back the little wolf's favor. "I told your father the truth."

"Why?" she questioned, keeping eye-contact with the prince. Tomas hated the way she was looking at him. It was the same glance she spared him when they spoke in the presence of her dancing master. He wanted to look away, but knew that it would only displease the little wolf further, so he forced himself to keep eye-contact no matter what.

It was a one-word question, yet still difficult to answer. If Tomas told her the truth she would sharply criticize him for having selfish intent. If he told her it was the right or honorable thing to do she would no doubt call him a liar. No matter what he answered she would be crossed, and if he failed to answer she would be crossed. Arya was like Mother in that regard. No answer he gave was the correct one. But nevertheless an answer she would have. "Because I was ashamed of my actions back at Castle Darry and wished to correct them." That much was the truth and Tomas felt proud he managed to think of an answer Arya could neither criticize nor call him a liar for. Or so he thought...

"You just want me to agree to marry you," Arya observed.

"I don't know what you want from me. When I'm myself I'm a coward and a liar. When I try to do the right thing I'm selfish. Is there a right way with you or am I doomed to be wrong for an eternity?"

"I already told you what I want."

"Father will never allow me to call off the betrothal."

"You gave me your word. Was that another lie?"

"I was a fool to give my word on something I have no control over."

"You had control when you asked your father to promise you to me."

"That's different."

"How is it different?"

"It just is!"

Arya anger grew and _she_ broke eye-contact with him in disgust. "You just don't want to keep your word. You're a selfish lying coward!"

"And you're a stupid little brat in old rags that chase cats in halls!" The words came out before he even knew what he was saying. Arya brushed past him, storming off down the halls. "Arya, wait!" Arya didn't look back and eventually disappeared in the distance as Tomas cursed underneath his breath.

"My prince?"

Tomas turned his head and followed the low-pitched voice to find Eddard Stark's eldest daughter now standing in the hall with him. The look on her face made it obvious that she caught the argument between himself and her younger sister, eyes of a blue tint looking on apologetically. "Lady Sansa," he greeted after an uncomfortable silence.

"Forgive my sister, my prince. She is willful and never did learn her courtesy."

"There is nothing to forgive nor do you need ask. If I went around asking everyone to forgive my brother I'd seldom have time for anything else."

Sansa gave Tomas a small smile and he couldn't help but notice how pretty she looked. Beautiful, even, like that of a traditional lady. Sansa was closer to his age and nothing like her sister. The girl was kind even when her eyes showed dismay, as was the case recently with the business involving Lady. Guilt began to surface in Tomas's heart, remembering how quickly that same smile faded when he first arrived in Winterfell, and again at Castle Darry. It was a good thing he promised their mother safety instead of happiness, or he would have broken his word long ago.

"Where are you headed?" asked Tomas.

"I had hoped to see the Great Hall, my prince," answered Sansa softly.

"You want to see the Iron Throne?" pressed Tomas and Sansa nodded. "Allow me to accompany you. A lady should not be left alone."

Sansa smile grew at the prospect. "Thank you, my prince."

They walked side by side each other out of the Tower of the Hand and Tomas led her to the location of the Great Hall making small talk on the way. "Are you settling in well?"

"Yes, my prince. King's Landing already feels like a second home."

"The heat hasn't been bothering you too much I hope."

"No, my prince."

"Please, when I marry, you and I will be brother and sister. Call me Tomas."

"As you wish, my prince." She soon caught her mistake. "Tomas."

"Only when we're alone, of course. I don't want you to get in trouble for forgetting your manners in the presence of our families."

"Yes, my– ...Tomas."

Sansa flustered and Tomas had no idea why. Only Sansa knew what was going on in that head of hers so the prince gave her a smile to put her at ease. They came up to the large bronze-oak doors of the Great Hall and Tomas pushed them open to reveal the even larger throne room that waited beyond. The room itself was like that of a cavern, hunting tapestrings hung on the walls below the high and narrow windows situated east and west. At the end of the hall opposite of the door it sat, casting its shadow over the pair in their approach. The one-thousand blades of King Aegon Targaryen the first, forfeited to him by his enemies and forged from the flames of his dragon, Balerion. A dragon so great its teeth was as big as the blades themselves. A throne of iron, raised on an iron platform with many steps taking you to the seat. Many men have sat on it, some even died on it. Father won it in the war against the Targaryen prince, Rhaegar, and his father, the Mad King. The throne that was to be his by birthright.

The Iron Throne.

Tomas looked over to Sansa who was in awe at the sight of it. Many people were when they saw it for the first time. It was only them in the Great Hall, more than likely due to everyone else in the Keep preparing for the Tourney of the Hand, or playing their 'game of thrones'. A game said to be as deadly as the throne itself. This gave them a chance to be alone from all the chatter and the whispers that filled these halls. The next time Tomas looked over to Sansa he could see the fear in her eyes after the awe wore off. No surprise there, the Iron Throne was as terrifying as it was great. "There's no need to be afraid," he told her, "it's not going to hurt you."

"Of course not, my prince." Sansa flustered for a second time. Tomas only shook his head as he started to climb the steps of the raised platform. "What are you doing, my prince?"

"Climbing chaos," answered Tomas.

"You shouldn't."

"Shouldn't what?" Tomas grinned slyly and continued his ascent up the steps. Sansa appeared aroused by his boldness which only served to egg him on further. He looked over the Iron Throne, the very throne that the men of House Targaryen sat, the throne Father sat, and the throne Lord Jon sat when Father ate, drank, and whored. One day it would be his to sit, and he was not content on waiting. Tomas trailed a finger across the armrest and it pricked him. Blood drew from his finger and he quickly stuck it in his mouth and sucked on it as he hid his pain. Sansa looked on in concern as she took a step forward, but remained away from the steps out of respect.

"Are you all right, my prince?"

"I'm fine," replied Tomas annoyed. Of course he was fine. Why wouldn't he be? It was only a little blood and he was a Baratheon. Baratheon knew all about blood. Tomas refused to be like Uncle Renly when it came to that which flowed through their veins. He was his father's son and he wasn't about to let this Iron Throne have its way with him. Tomas moved in front of it, ignoring Sansa's pleas to get down from there. He slowly sat down on the hard steel, careful of where and how he moved in the iron while his arms came back to the armrest. Tomas hung off the edge of the seat, unable to lean back because of the blades behind him. For a moment Prince Tomas almost looked like a king, earning a smile from the auburn-hair beauty at the bottom of the steps. But it only lasted a moment. Just as he was beginning to get comfortable, the prince moved his left arm carelessly and the Iron Throne ripped open the wound left behind by Arya's direwolf, Nymeria, and he cried out in pain. Cries that bounced off the walls of the Great Hall and caused Sansa to cover her hands over her mouth.

"My prince!" she cried, running up to him to get a closer look at his bleeding arm herself. "I-I'll get help."

"No!" Tomas protested. "I'll be fine."

"The wound will fester if you leave it."

"I said I'll be fine!"

Sansa backed away startled when he raised his voice and Tomas soon realized his stubbornness. Holding onto his wound and hissing in pain. "Forgive me, my lady. I have a man's pride. Go, get help, but I beg you, don't let my father know."

Sansa nodded and ran down the steps and out the Great Hall for assistance. Tomas stood up from the Iron Throne and narrowed his eyes over it as he descended the steps. It was almost as if the throne saw him unfitted to rule and was dead set on killing him. As if losing to a girl half his side wasn't enough of a bruise to his ego, now even an inanimate object was giving him a hard time. Tomas growled in frustration and took his leave of the Great Hall, the Iron Throne remaining proudly where it sat in the throne room.


	13. Chapter 13

Trumpets sounded through the air, participants from all over the Seven Kingdoms came in on their horses for the chance to win glory. Prince Tomas sat with his family straight across from the center of the field where the knights would meet to cross lances. More bandages wrapped tightly around his left arm underneath his sleeve no thanks to the Iron Throne. Sansa and her handmaidens had done well not to speak a word of it to Father. He didn't know which would have made him angrier, sitting in a seat he had no business sitting in or not being able to handle it. Tomas decided he didn't want to know, and thanks to Sansa he never would.

The prince looked over to his right to see where the high lords and ladies sat. Among them was Sansa Stark looking on in wonder at everything that was going on around her. It was enough to let a smile curve his lips until he saw Arya sitting next to her, an uninterested and hardened face on her features as she caught the prince's gaze and glared back in his direction. Tomas's smile came undone and he returned the favor before refocusing his attention on the knights. Father moved eagerly in his seat just wanting the tournament to begin while his mother sat beside him as still as the river. Joffrey looked as uninterested as Arya did and his younger siblings, Myrcella and Tommen, shared Sansa's enthusiasm.

Ser Jory of House Stark was the first one up. Tomas leaned forward in his seat, curious to see how the captain of Ned's guard held his own against the other knights. His armor was enough to make him stick out like a sore thumb in King's Landing. The other knights' armor shinned brightly in the sun with ornaments that made them pretty to look at. Not Ser Jory. The armor on his back was meant for one thing, and one thing only, to protect him from harm. _That's what a knight should look like,_ Tomas thought his approval.

Despite those that scoffed at the sight of him, Jory unseated Ser Horas of House Redwyne, son of Lord Paxter, lord of the Arbor, and a man riding for House Frey, the house that sat at the Crossing in the Riverlands. Tomas could still remember his meeting of Walder Frey, an old, hideous man who could no longer stand. Even if he was young and handsome, he gave off a vibe that made the prince's stomach turn. He had came to watch his sons during the tournament on his fourteenth nameday and that one meeting was enough for one lifetime in the prince's mind.

Although Ser Jory was never unseated from his horse, his father ruled in favor of Ser Lothor, a middle-aged knight whose loyalties lied with Lord Baelish. Tomas wondered how much of that had to do with politics instead of skill. The other men to ride for Winterfell would not have better luck, Harwin having the grave misfortune to cross lances with a member of the Kingsguard, Ser Meryn, and Alyn facing defeat at the hands of Ser Balon. Tomas didn't like Meryn's droopy eyes or his red beard. The man came across as more cruel than some of the other members of the Kingsguard. But Ser Balon? The man was valiant, and not to mention large and muscular. He would have wore the white cloak proudly if he was awarded the honor. Tomas had few favorites in this tournament: Sandor Clegane, Uncle Renly, Ser Barristan, and Ser Loras of House Tyrell. The prince didn't care who won as long as it was not Uncle Jaime or the Mountain.

Speaking of the blond-haired, green-eyed devil, Jaime rode out on his horse offering a smile in the direction of Mother and went on to defeat Ser Andar of House Royce from the Vale, and Lord Bryce, head of House Caron of Nightsong. It was becoming difficult to remember all these sers and lords and the different houses whose banners they rode under. But one day Tomas was to rule them all and these knights and lords that many considered beneath them could one day rise to be major players in the future. Prince Tomas was going to make sure he could remember each and every one of their faces and names. Just as a good king should.

Tomas cheered when Ser Barristan came out, much to the irritation of his parents. Father did not trust Ser Barristan due to his time under the reign of the Mad King, and Mother thought Uncle Jaime would make a much better Lord Commander, among other things. Tomas could only scoff inwardly at both of them. _When I become king he will be my Lord Commander and sit on my small council._ Knowing the way his father drank that may very well be sooner rather than later. Barristan's lance collided and shattered on the chest plate of two riders half the man's age, proving beyond all doubt that the legendary knight could still go. Tomas resumed his cheering and saw Sansa saying something to Arya in the stands. The way Arya dismissed her sister made Tomas wonder if they were speaking about him. He did not have to wonder for long as both of them glanced in his direction and he immediately turned back to the field to see Uncle Jaime preparing to joust with Ser Barristan.

The outside world vanished to the prince as he allowed himself to be absorbed in the tournament. He lent so far in his seat Mother had to pull him back so he wouldn't fall out of it. Joffrey also showed interest for the first time since the tournament began, wanting to see Uncle Jaime square off against the legendary knight. The crowd grew silent, the only noise coming from the sound of their horses galloping towards one another as their lances raised. Their lances splintered in the head on collision and the realm watched as Ser Barristan was eventually unseated from his horse at the hands of the Kingslayer. Some cheered, but many more booed the result as Jaime slowed down his horse. A smug expression could be seen on Joffrey's face and Mother let out one of her rare, sincere smiles as Jaime came to salute Father and grinned towards the rest of his family, even Tomas. Tomas wished a dragon would swoop down from the sky and set the Kingslayer on fire, but it was not to be. The dragons were long gone, only serving to haunt his dreams.

A monster of a man walked out on the field after Jaime had left, the ground trembling with each step he took. The knight reached so high into the sky he made the common men look like Uncle Tyrion by comparison. Perhaps the only thing heavier than the man, was the armor that protected him in battle. It was so heavy and thick that no ordinary man could ever hope to wear it, but this was no ordinary man. It was the Mountain That Rides, Ser Gregor Clegane. His face was hidden by his helmet, of which a small fist pointed upward in the sky on top of it and a small slit that made up the visor. Others in the court may have called him _ser_, but Tomas saw it an insult to grant him such a title. The prince was gifted, or perhaps cursed, to be one of the few who knew that it was Gregor who caused the facial scarring upon the Hound. An act he had committed because Sandor was playing with a toy, a toy that the Mountain didn't even play with anymore. When he was knighted Gregor went on to commit cold-blooded murder and rapes. This led to the Hound hating knights and the vows they took. A story the prince heard all because he once called him _Ser Clegane_. That was the first and last time the boy addressed him as such.

_When I'm king, Gregor will be made to pay for his crimes, _Tomas thought grimly. _The Hound may see to the king's justice himself. _The prince watched as the Mountain climbed atop his steed and took off across the field ramming his lance into the chest of a knight unlucky enough to joust against him. The next unlucky man was Ser Hugh of the Vale. The Mountain was quite the man for a new knight to find himself on the receiving end of. _It would seem the gods do not smile on House Arryn. _He did not know how correct he was until the Mountain's lance plunged into Ser Hugh's throat and out the other end, killing him by the time the body fell from his horse and onto the ground near where the noblemen sat. Tomas rose from his seat to get a closer look, as did Joffrey, and Mother brought Myrcella and Tommen to her to shield their eyes from the body. Sansa looked at the corpse in fascination, the girl next to her who Tomas had seen around Sansa before wept loudly for the fallen knight. Arya tried to get a closer look at the body, but was kept away by Septa Mordane before she removed the girl by them that was crying. The guards came to carry Hugh out and a boy followed to cover up the blood with dirt and the tournament continued. It was all that they could do.

"Not much of a knight," said Joffrey as he sat back down.

"I'd like to see you do better," said Tomas.

Joffrey looked up at Tomas like he had been challenged. "When I am older I will do in any who oppose me!"

"That I would very much like to see," replied Tomas.

"Silence, the both of you," snapped Father.

"Sorry, Father," said Tomas, sitting back down in his seat. The only thing he wanted now was to see the Mountain lose. He didn't even care if it was Jaime that did it. It may be one of the few times he'd actually cheer for his uncle the Kingslayer.

It was finally the Hound's turn to joust, and he'd be facing Uncle Renly who rode out onto the field in green armor with a helmet that had antlers on top of it, the traditional Baratheon helmet that Tomas hoped to one day wear when he was older. He applauded for them both, as well as his injured hand would allow and watched with intrigue over who would be victorious. The first joust in the tournament where Tomas hoped a draw would somehow be reached, but the Hound sent his uncle flying through the air and a loud _crack_ could be heard and the crowd gasped. Tomas's concern would soon be set aside as he saw it was only the antler on his helmet that was damaged in the fall and the crowd cheered for his uncle. Renly offered the broken antler to the Hound who only snorted and tossed it away among the common folk who wrestled over it. Tomas chuckled quietly, finding the interaction amusing and watching Renly restore the peace of the smallfolk and allowing a small child to keep the antler.

Father didn't look at all pleased that Renly had already been unhorsed, but it wasn't like he was unseated by a hedge knight. There was a reason the Hound was Tomas's personal bodyguard, after all. As if his mind had made it so, a hedge knight in a checkered cloak prepared for the next joust against Lord Beric Dondarrion, well known for the purple lightning bolt displayed on his banner. The hedge knight was defeated and just when Tomas thought nothing else bad could happen after a death, the hedge knight drew his sword and beheaded Lord Dondarrion's horse. His father screamed for the hedge knight to be removed, and he left on his own accord at the jeers of the smallfolk, having succeeded in dishonoring himself. Joffrey only chuckled at the decapitation, it was just the kind of senseless cruelty that he approved of. Tomas couldn't understand how something so vile could come from Father and Mother. Yes, Mother had her moments of cruelty, but she wasn't anything like Joffrey, nor were their siblings. If anyone was the black sheep of House Baratheon of King's Landing, it was Joffrey.

Lord Dondarrion would go on to be defeated by Thoros of Myr, a tall, bald-headed man who let himself go in the physical sense, but nevertheless still knew how to properly ride a horse. Tomas had seen him among his father's court many times in the Red Keep. The first draw came between the master-at-arms of the Keep, Ser Aron Santagar, and Lothor Brune after their lances crossed three times. The master-at-arms would see defeat in his second joust at the hands of Lord Jason Mallister, a man who fought bravely alongside Tomas's father at the Battle of the Trident, and Ser Aron at the hands of Ser Robar Royce.

Alas, when this round of the tournament came to an end it was time for the Knight of Flowers to make his appearance. He was a youthful man with beautiful, flowing brown hair that went down to his shoulders and eyes of gold. The man was already renowned for his beauty and all of the women at attendance couldn't keep their eyes off him. All but Mother and Arya, that was. _Huh, the wolf and the lion has something in common after all_. Tomas smiled inwardly at the thought.

Once the jousting commenced, the Knight of Flowers showed why he was the first to send Jaime crashing down onto his ass. Unseating not one, not two, but _three_ knights of the Kingsguard, Ser Meryn among the defeated at the hands of the Flower Knight. Tomas smirked, pleased to see Meryn Trant out of the tournament and the other members who were of lower repute than Ser Barristan due to the influence of Mother. _I should add restoring the Kingsguard to their former glory among the list of things to do when I become king. _

Ser Loras's victory was a high note to end on, he even found the time to give Sansa a red rose and compliment her beauty in the process. Father ruled that the last three matches would take place tomorrow due to the moon already being up in the sky and they moved to the riverside where tables were already set up and the food prepared. Sansa, Arya, and Septa Mordane were allowed to sit with the royal family. Joffrey sat himself beside Sansa and Tomas sat himself next to Arya. Sansa seemed to be much more excited about having a prince next to her than Arya did and she was not phase by the look of disapproval on Septa Mordane's face.

"Ser Loras has a keen eye for beauty, sweet lady," Joffrey told Sansa. "Which is more than I can say for _some_ men I know." Joffrey shot a glance to Tomas and Tomas only gave his brother a fake smile as he hid his contempt.

"He was too kind," replied Sansa. "Ser Loras is a true knight. Do you think he will win tomorrow, my princes?"

"No," answered Joffrey. "The Mountain will do for him, or perhaps our uncle Jaime. And in a few years, when I am old enough to enter the lists, I shall do for them all."

Arya snorted at Joffrey's words. Joffrey shot her a glare and both Sansa and Septa Mordane scolded her. Tomas only chuckled, taking a bite out of the auroch that had been prepared for the feast, remembering his manners enough to chew and swallow before he spoke. "My brother seems to have a poor memory. Ser Loras have defeated Uncle Jaime once already, and he has no trouble with the Kingsguard. It should be an interesting match regardless, and I ever do look forward to meeting my little brother in a joust one day."

It was Tomas's turn to receive a glare from Joffrey and he only smiled his fake smiles to his younger brother. He turned to see Arya munching down like that of a young man with a great appetite that would have made Father proud. Tomas made sure to spare a laugh, if only so the septa hid her dismay at Arya's behavior. Joffrey called the servants to pour Sansa a cup of iced summerwine and poured a cup for the septa as well to make Sansa more at ease. Tomas didn't know nor assumed to know what Arya would like, so he allowed the girl to eat and drink as she pleased.

"The riders from Winterfell rode well," complimented Tomas. "I can see why your father chose Ser Jory as captain of his guard."

"Two of them fell off their horse," said Joffrey. "That isn't riding well."

"At least they know how to lose with dignity," said Tomas, thinking back to the hedge knight who disgraced himself.

"Arya, don't you have anything you want to say to the prince?" asked Sansa.

Arya looked over to Tomas and opened her mouth whilst she chewed, mumbling something Tomas couldn't make out. Sansa frowned and the septa scolded Arya sharply and apologized for her to the princes. "It's fine," Tomas said. "Next to Father she fits right in."

"Father is nowhere near as disgusting," snapped Joffrey. This time Tomas and Arya spared Joffrey a glare, it was the first time they had acted in unison as a good husband and wife should. Though it made Sansa and Septa Mordane uncomfortable. Sansa didn't look the least bit pleased with her younger sister and Arya showed how little she cared as she continued to eat.

"I couldn't help but notice that Lord Eddard was not here," said Tomas. "It's strange to have a tourney honoring the Hand with no Hand."

"Father had better things to do," Arya said bluntly.

"Arya!" Sansa raised her voice without realizing, quickly apologizing for it. "What she means to say is that Father had important business he needed to intend to."

Tomas wondered if any of that business had to do with Mother and Uncle Jaime. "I see," the crown prince replied. "The realm comes first as it should. I hope he will be able to enjoy the jousting tomorrow, at least." Tomas could hear his father raise his voice with each course, until finally it grew so loud everyone was looking over at their king. Father was standing on his feet, red of face, looking down at his mother in anger as drunk as was humanly possible.

"You do not tell me what to do, woman," shouted Father. "I am king here, do you understand? I rule here, and if I say that I will fight tomorrow, I will _fight!_"

Mother's expression was as cold as the north itself and Tomas heard Arya whisper, "Why is no one doing anything?" prompting him to turn back to face the girl, bemused.

"You can't be that naive," replied Tomas. Arya wore her displeasure with his answer on her face as Tomas turned away just in time to see Mother storm off with servants trailing behind her. In the next couple of seconds to pass, Uncle Jaime was shoved to the ground by his drunk father. It must have been his nameday.

"The great knight," Father mocked. "I can still knock you in the dirt. Remember that, Kingslayer." He banged his hand on his chest and spilled his wine over the robes on his back. "Give me my hammer and not a man in the realm can stand before me!"

Jaime stood up and dusted himself off. "As you say, Your Grace," he replied stiffly.

Even the smile from Joffrey's face had faded as he excused himself from the table. Tomas decided that this was an occasion to drink and filled up his goblet, going from cup to cup until Septa Mordane looked thirty years her junior. He decided that was enough wine for the night and stumbled as he rose from his seat, hanging onto the edge of the table for balance. "It's getting late. Do you ladies require an escort?"

"No," began Sansa, looking startled to find Septa Mordane sleeping at the table. She tried to wake her to little and no prevail before giving up.

"She's been like that since the last course," said Arya. "You'd know that if you weren't busy staring at Joffrey all day."

Tomas snickered and Sansa could only blush as she was the next one to rise from her seat. "Thank you for your offer, my prince, we should be glad for some protection."

"We?" repeated Arya, questionably. Sansa pleaded with her eyes for Arya to go along with it, but the girl was unyielding. "He can hardly stand."

"That's no way to talk to a prince," said Sansa.

"No, my betrothed is right," interjected Tomas, drunkenly waving his finger left and right through the air. "I have no business holding a torch in my condition. Sandor! Sandor, my friend, where are you?"

"Yes, my prince?" answered the Hound, his voice came so suddenly the prince nearly jumped out of his skin.

"You're lighter on your feet than I remember," Tomas noted. "We're escorting these lovely ladies back to their rooms, see to it I don't fall on my ass." Tomas waited for Sandor to grab one of the nearby torches and then let him lead the way. Sansa was right behind him avoiding the burnt half of his face like the plague while he walked beside his betrothed behind her, looking up to the stars that filled the night's sky and wrapped his good arm around Arya's shoulder. "Beautiful night, isn't it?"

"Get your hand off me," said Arya irritably.

Tomas rolled his eyes. "It's just a hand." He pulled back his arm and drunkenly waved his hand in front of her. "See?"

"You're drunk."

"That I am." He said proudly, Arya only looking away in disgust. Tomas could see Sandor turning his head back to the pair, most likely to ensure he in fact _doesn't _fall on his ass. Tomas took one of Arya's pigtails and gently brushed his fingers across it. "I can't wait to see you with your hair down."

Arya slapped his hand away and looked at him harshly. "You will see no such thing!"

Tomas laughed. "How else are we going to make beautiful wolf pups when the time comes?" Anger joined the annoyance already on Arya's face as she moved to get ahead of Sandor and Sansa only to have her wrist yanked on by Tomas who pulled her back to him. "Just one kiss."

"No!" Arya yelled.

"Just one kiss!"

"NO!"

Sansa looked back on the pair frightened and called on Sandor who brought his free hand onto Tomas's shoulder, gripping it firmly and escorting him away from Arya. "Come on, little stag. It's time for bed." It wouldn't have made a difference if the prince put up a fuss or not, the Hound easily brought him to the front of the line and kept the tight grip on his shoulder, the pain from the grip reminding him to behave as they walked down the rocky, dirt filled road. Tomas could hear Sansa checking up on Arya who insisted that she was fine. He looked up to see Sandor's half burnt face glowing in the light from the torch, looking ahead down the road they were walking on. Despite how drunk he was, the boy knew he had done wrong and lowered his head in shame as they walked. Not wanting to think about the raw splitting headache he was going to have come morning.


	14. Chapter 14

A throbbing sensation spread throughout the prince's head like a disease. Blurs of color and light danced undisturbed until his vision cleared to see his servants standing over him, hair as bright as the sun and eyes like his mother. He released a groan when they spoke, bringing a hand up to his forehead to massage it. "Must you speak so loud?" Tomas asked and the servants were quick to apologize although they were making little noise to begin with. The large quantity of wine he drank the other night had returned full force and Lannister servants would have to deal with the aftermath. They helped him out of bed and drew up a bath for him to soak the hangover away before dressing him. When they reached out for the golden tunic with black stags on it Tomas spoke up, "No. The blue one." Right next to it was a beautifully sown blue tunic with tiny spots of silver glistening in the sunlight from the window. The blue of the tunic made his green eyes look bluer from a distance, but upon closer examination one could see the emeralds as clear as day. Combined with his black hair dye it was the closest he would ever come to looking like his father. Eyes as blue as sapphire and hair black as night, was that so much to ask?

They changed his bandages and he was half dressed when Ser Meryn Trant and Ser Boros Blount of the Kingsguard entered his bedchambers. Boros was bald for the most part, the only hair remaining being on the back of his head and gray like that of an old man. The only thing shorter than his hair was his temper and he was ugly as sin. Both of these men were loyal to his mother before the crown and it didn't take much guess work to figure out why they were here even before Ser Meryn spoke, "The queen wishes to see you." The boy looked at them with all the courage he could muster, knowing that neither one would risk harm to him in fear of retribution from his father.

"Shouldn't you be guarding Lord Father?" questioned Tomas. "As is your duty."

The two men only looked to each other, a scowl present on Boros's face as he let Meryn do the talking. "Our duty is to the entire royal family, my prince."

"And what, pray tell, does my darling mother want?"

"She did not say," replied Ser Meryn.

"I had planned to join Sandor Clegane in his pavilion for breakfast. Please inform my lady mother that if she can't be bothered to tell me what she wants then she can wait until after the Tourney of the Hand to speak with me."

Meryn and Boros looked shocked, the servant boys carrying on uncomfortable by the new found tension in the room as they finished dressing their prince and relative. Tomas headed for the door, but Meryn and Boros remained blocking his path. "I'm afraid the queen _insists_ you join her in the royal chambers," Meryn told him.

Tomas could see the seriousness in their eyes and knew there was no escaping if they dragged him kicking and screaming to his mother. The prince could only assume one of Mother's spies had caught him coming out of the Tower of the Hand and now was her chance to find out why. Tomas swallowed sharply and pierced the two men of the White Cloak with a glance uncanny to his mother. "Very well," began Tomas, "take me to her."

Meryn nodded and with Boros escorted the prince to the royal chambers where Queen Cersei already had breakfast prepared for them. Baked bread and left over fish from the night previously rested on clean plates and a goblet filled with ice water was by the prince's dish as she drank wine for herself. Normally Tomas would have protested this, but after all he had to drink last night he didn't want to so much as look at the red beast that filled Mother's golden goblet. A blood red dress covered the queen's body and her hair was tied up behind her back. Their gaze met and for a while it was like looking into a mirror until he noticed the way her eyes looked at his black hair and how his tunic changed his own eyes. Though there was nothing on her face to say otherwise, Tomas knew she was slighted: tension so thick you could cut it with Valyrian steel.

"Leave us," ordered Cersei, Meryn and Boros only bowing to the queen before leaving them alone. Tomas was hesitant to get any closer to where his mother stood, but found his courage and pulled out the chair sitting across from her, and kept it pulled out in case he needed to make a quick dash for the door. "Are you afraid I'm going to bite you?" the queen asked. Tomas only kept his silence. Helping himself to a slice of bread as he waited for Mother to get to the point. It was a long wait, the wave of silence and the tension building with each bite they took. There was a time where Tomas used to enjoy these alone times with his mother, that was long before he was introduced to her true nature. A nature that came out little by little the more he tried to be like Father in appearance. There was an obvious grudge between man and wife and Tomas had difficulty telling how deep it went. "Isn't this nice?" spoke Mother once more. "Just the two of us."

"If you have a point to this torture please get on with it," said Tomas.

"It's torture to spend time with your mother now?"

"You know damn well what I mean."

"Hold your tongue," she scolded. "I get enough of that filth from your father."

Tomas grabbed his cup and brought it to his lips, the ice in the water was so cold he would have thought it came from the north itself. Mother watched him closely, for what reason he did not know, it made him all the more uneasy by the time he put his cup down. "A time is coming when your father will part this world. When that time comes you'll be king. Have you given any thought to what you'd do then?"

Tomas raised an eyebrow at his mother, this was the last piece of discussion he expected to have when he heard of her summons. Surely she didn't bring him all the way just to talk about what kind of a ruler he'd be? Nevertheless, he had several answers he did not mind sharing with her. "As a matter of fact I have."

"Enlighten me."

Tomas made a point to finish his bread and have a piece of his fish just in case he was chased out soon. "I'd have Ser Barristan back in his proper seat on the small council instead of when it suited me, and I'd name Uncle Tyrion my new Hand." He watched her, a glimmer of amusement could be seen in her eyes when he named Tyrion his Hand, as if she thought it a joke. But Tomas was serious. If he had a chance to choose his hand it'd be Tyrion, Stannis, or Renly. While he no doubt Eddard was doing the best he could in the position, it was clear on the man's face he did not want to be in the south. Tomas would have no trouble granting him his wish and sending him back to Winterfell where he belonged.

"You'd exchange Lord Stark for an Imp?" she said, amused.

"I'd exchange Lord Stark for family," Tomas countered.

Cersei tilted her head and looked at him curiously. "Since when has family mean anything to you?"

"Family means _everything_ to me. I'd not disown it because of a few bad seeds." Mother's stare persisted and Tomas chose to keep speaking to give her something to really stare about. "After naming Uncle Tyrion my Hand I would strip Ser Gregor of all his titles and land and have him answer for the countless atrocities he committed against his family. I'd relieve your pawns from the Kingsguard and ship Jaime back to Casterly Rock!"

The strike came faster than Tomas could have reacted, knocking the ice cold water onto the floor and spilling out to the carpet leaving a dark stain in the middle. A red hand print now marked the cheek of Prince Tomas as he looked towards his mother in shock, his hand coming up to where she struck him, feeling the burn on his cheek from the slap. Cersei's eyes narrowed over him darkly and she stood up from her seat to tower over the prince. "You have a lot to learn about being a king."

"And you; about being a mother."

Cersei moved to the side of the table and Tomas tried to stand, only rising halfway from his seat before being pushed back down in his chair, Mother's hands on his shoulders and the pain in his injured arm returning from her grip as she glared darts into him. Once she knew he wasn't going anywhere she removed her hands from him and stood to his right. "I raised you, and your siblings, while your father whored and sired bastards throughout the Seven Kingdoms. I gave you the milk from my breast. I sheltered you, loved you like a good mother should. I protected you from all those who would have seen you harm, and this is how you repay me?" Cersei ran a hand through his darkened hair and raised his chin to force him to look her in the eyes. "By casting illusions on yourself to be something you're not? By betraying your family to conspire with the Starks?"

"I didn't conspire with anyone," argued Tomas. "You're the one with your spies and your intrigue. Who told you I talked to Ned? Was it Varys? Pycelle?"

"It doesn't matter now. The Starks will be gone soon."

"What are you talking about?"

"Lord Stark will return to the north and take his bannermen with him." The way she spoke was so confident, like she knew this for a fact.

"Father will never stand for it," Tomas pointed out.

"Your father won't be standing for anything," replied Cersei.

"What?"

"I wish not to, but you left me no choice. Plotting with the Starks. I had to act."

Tomas stood up to his feet. "What did you do?" he demanded.

"I didn't do anything." Cersei sneered. "Your father was the one who insisted he fight in the melee."

Tomas's eyes widened when he realized what Mother was saying. That whole display in front of his court at dinner, it was all to egg his father on to fight so he could be killed. He turned around and headed for the door. "I won't let you get away with this. I'm telling Father!" Tomas opened the door only to find a Lannister guard waiting for him. The guard grabbed him and held his hand over his mouth so he couldn't scream for help. Cersei approached and stared at him with a disappointing glare.

"I had hoped you'd come around. That you'd forget this little _rebellious _stage and come to appreciate the counsel Jaime and I have to offer you. Instead you choose to lie with wolves."

The hatred in Tomas's eyes increased tenfold as he would have lunged at his mother and draw his knife on her had it not been for the Lannister guard restraining him.

"My son is sick," Cersei said to no one in particular. "Bad trout. See him back to his room and make sure no one disturbs him."

"Yes, my lady," replied the guard.

He began to make his way for the door before Cersei knelt down and pulled up Tomas's pants sleeve, revealing the knife he had tucked away and unstrapping it from his ankle. "You think I haven't noticed your hands when you're in a pinch?" she asked, holding the knife in front of him as she stood. Tomas would have replied his contempt if his lips were free. "Go." She told the guard and Tomas was dragged back to his bedchambers where the doors were slammed shut and men stood outside his door to keep him imprisoned. Tomas shrieked: knocking over his chairs and tearing his bedsheets. Red hot tears burned his eyes and his nostrils flared like that of a fire-breathing dragon before he fell to his bed, weeping. His father was going to die at his mother's doing and there was nothing he could do about it.

The prince fell to his knees, hands clapped together and eyes closed as he prayed to the gods for mercy. He prayed to the Father to make Cersei judgment swift and precise. He prayed to the Warrior so that his father may have victory. He prayed to the Smith so that his father would have the strength to achieve it. All he could do was pray, and prayed he did until nightfall. Word of the tournament reached his ears from those who walked the halls of the castle outside his chambers. They spoke of the Hound unseating Jaime and the humiliation he endured when he was unable to remove his lion helmet that had been twisted around from the impact. Ser Loras had done the impossible and defeated the Mountain, and the Mountain nearly damn well took his head off until the Hound intercepted his blade and Loras gave Sandor the championship to repay him. A commoner by the name of Anguy won the archery competition and a red priest of R'hllor, the fire god of the east, Thoros, won the melee with his flaming sword. There was no word of his father entering the melee or dying which gave the boy some much needed hope. The door to his chambers opened and a guard in the dark red armor of the Lannister's soldiers entered the room with his helmet and visor covering his face, putting down the prince's meal by his feet as he looked up and lifted up the visor to reveal who he was to the prince's surprise.

"Lord Varys?"

"My, my," began the Eunuch, "what a predicament we've gotten ourselves into."

"How?"

"I would not be in my position if I did not know how to blend in, my prince." The Eunuch smiled and Tomas could not help but do the same until he remembered the questions he posed to Mother about spies.

"Did you tell my mother I visited Ned's office?"

"No, my prince. My little birds did not sing such a melody to the queen."

"My mother has me locked away like some prisoner. She was going to–"

"Kill your father?" Varys finished. "This I know."

"And you stopped it?"

"Lord Stark stopped it," Varys corrected. "He succeeded in talking your father from competing in the melee."

"Thank the gods," said Tomas, relieved. The gods heard prayers after all.

"I would not relax yet, my prince, your father is still in danger. The queen is not one to give up so easily."

"We have to tell Father."

"Tell him what? Without proof we can do nothing."

"I am his eldest son and heir to the throne, he _has_ to listen to me!"

"Forgive me, my prince, but your lies and hate for your mother is no secret at court, and half the debt is owe to your grandfather. Without sufficient proof all claims would fall on deaf ears, I'm afraid. Our lord Hand knew this."

"You would have me do nothing?" Tomas asked.

"I would have you reclaim your mother's trust."

Tomas laughed. "That won't happen."

"Not if you continue on your current path, no, I'd think not. But if you were to make peace with your mother, tell her what she so desperately longs to hear, then you may very well save your father yet. She loves you, perhaps more than your siblings. You were her firstborn, a bond forged that will never be duplicated. Had you not colored your hair and gone through so much trouble to displease her, relations would be much easier."

"I refuse to be some pawn that Mother moves as she sees fit."

"A pawn can become what it chooses when it reaches the end of the board, my prince. Should your father ever pass away by other circumstances, the gods forbid of course, your mother will need you far more than you need her. Even as regent, as queen, a woman can only go so far. Without you she has nothing."

"Leverage," Tomas stated.

"Yes, my prince, the best kind. But you must be convincing, if she has any reason to suspect you'll sell her out to the Starks again, well... it's back behind these walls until you learn to behave."

Tomas gritted his teeth. The last thing he wanted was to side with his mother, even if it was a ruse, but if he wanted his father to keep breathing he had little choice in the matter. He had to do his best to win back his mother's favor. She may never forgive him for going behind her back with the Starks, or fully trust him, but all he had to do was act like an obedient son afraid of what would happen if he isn't and that would be all the security his mother needed. "Very well. I'll lay in bed with the lion. If my father could find the strength to do it four times over than so can I."

"Spoken like a true king," said Varys, lowering the visor and rising to his feet. He left the chambers and not a single guard knew he wasn't a soldier of the Lannisters.

After the door closed Tomas pressed up against it, cheek gently brushed against the wood as he spoke, "Guard? I know you can hear me. I wish to speak with my mother. Tell her..." The words caught in his throat, but he managed to spit them out all the same, "that I wish to atone." There was silence after his words and then footsteps echoed across the halls outside his room until they faded in the distance, and he knew right then his lady mother would not be far behind.


End file.
